


Thicker Than Blood

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Fourth Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2005-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to <a href="http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592">Brothers in Arms</a>. Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Beregond awoke to the sound of a rooster’s distant crow. He opened his eyes slowly and his sight was immediately adjusted to the semi-dark in which his room was – it was obvious that the sun hadn’t risen yet. The man sighed with regret, not wishing to get up, for the warmth of the blanket covering him felt so very nice. However, there was nothing for it: Faramir had said that they would have to leave Meduseld before noon and Beregond would make sure that all arrangements were properly made long before that. Pushing the blanket aside, he quickly got up and dressed before feeling the morning cold, then headed for the water basin nearby.

He had been in the great city of Rohan for almost three months now. Lady Éowyn had wished to see her brother, King Éomer of the Mark, and Faramir was more than happy to accompany her, since things had been quiet in Ithilien and he was certain he could leave for a while without anything amiss happening. Beregond naturally had accompanied them on their journey, since he was the commander of the couple’s escort. The captain had to admit that he liked life in Rohan, but it was still quite different from what he had grown used to. Also, despite the fact that Éomer had made certain that each of the Gondorian knights felt at home, the truth was that Beregond missed Ithilien and his son even more. After all, they had hardly been separated ever since Bergil was born, so he wasn’t at ease after so many weeks of them being apart. It was only logical to feel happy when Faramir had decided it was high time to return home.

He washed his face and shaved, feeling himself completely alert now. Then he swiftly collected all his personal belongings and walked out of the room to find the rest of his men. It didn’t take him long, since they had all gathered in the Golden Hall and were now waiting for him to give them his instructions. After he had made certain that everyone was packed and ready, Beregond ordered them to go to the stables and saddle their horses and he also told his second-in-command to see that Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn’s horses were prepared as well. With that done, he went to see to the provisions that they would take on their journey. The servants of the Golden Hall had assured him that they would take care of everything themselves, but he still wanted to be certain that everything was done right.

\------------

In the meantime, the Lady of the Mark was preparing her own things, but she wasn’t in all that much of a hurry. She cast brief glimpses about the quarters, looking at its every part and memories flooding her mind – this had been her room long before she married Faramir. She was still looking around when she saw from her window that the sun was rising, colouring with its rays all the plains of Rohan gold. She stood by its ledge, gazing outside like she had always done when she was but a girl, wishing to see the realm unfolding before her out of the shadows of the night. She smelled the morning dew and, for an instant, she thought she was a child once more.

It was then that she leant on the threshold for support, her one hand holding herself protectively. That, however, did little good against the pain that seemed to burn her insides.

“It has already begun,” she murmured, knowing only too well what was happening to her.

The door opened, cutting her off of her train of thought; and she was glad to see Éomer coming in.

“Am I interrupting you from something, Éowyn?” asked the king of Rohan. Even though the woman seemed happy to see him, he didn’t fail noticing how tense she was.

“No, indeed,” answered she quickly, “You just startled me, that is all. What are you doing here?”

“I simply wanted to see you one last time before saying goodbye. I missed you, sister and, frankly, I wanted you to stay a little while longer.”

“I missed you too, Éomer,” replied the noble lady, taking her brother’s hands into her own affectionately. “I wish at times Ithilien was closer so I could see you more often.”

Her brother looked at her intently.

“You have been living there for almost five years now and yet you still have not called it home yet?”

“Do not get me wrong, brother,” said Éowyn, smiling sadly. “I love Faramir with all my heart and even more, if that were possible. But still, Rohan is where I grew up.”

“You miss the carefree days of old then? When you could ride a horse and let it take you wherever it will, your hair flowing against the wind?”

“That too. But I miss the most the days I was a shieldmaiden. When I would take joy in songs of war and in sword fights: when I _knew_ I was strong.”

Suddenly, her grip on Éomer’s hand tightened; and Éomer was surprised to see a spasm of pain passing across her features.

“Éowyn? What is the matter?”

“Nothing…”

“What do you mean nothing? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” said the woman, tired of her brother’s questioning. “Do not trouble yourself, it has happened before.”

“Forgive me, sister, but I cannot help but troubling. Have you spoken to a healer about this thing?”

“I have, he said there was nothing wrong with me,” answered the fair lady quite truthfully.

“Then why does it happen? What are you hiding?”

Éowyn looked intently at her brother, feeling herself trapped. She didn’t wish to tell him of her new worries, for she believed that there was nothing that he could do; but now it seemed she didn’t have any other choice except to confide in him. She had already opened her mouth as in a motion to speak, when Faramir walked in.

“I am sorry,” he apologised, as soon as he saw Éowyn wasn’t alone. “I merely wanted to see if you are ready, my love.”

“She would have been if it were not for me delaying her,” stated Éomer, answering for his sister. “For that I ask your forgiveness, Lord Faramir.”

“You have it,” answered the prince courteously, “for I know the love you have for her and you do not want to see her go just yet.”

“However, she must follow her husband,” replied the king. “Give us five more minutes, if you can.”

“I can and I will. I shall wait in the Golden Hall, my love,” said Faramir, turning once more to Éowyn.

“Éomer and I will find you there,” promised the fair lady, hoping that neither of the two men noticed the way her hands clenched as another wave of pain penetrated her.

Faramir nodded his acknowledgement, his eyes always on his wife; then walked out. Once he was gone, Éomer turned to the woman and looked at her hard.

“He knows naught of what you are going through, does he?”

Éowyn shook her head yes solemnly.

“Sister, he is your husband. He of all people has every right to know about the condition you are in. Especially if it is some kind of an illness the healer is not aware of!”

“It is nothing like that, I assure you. And as for Faramir, I do not want to tell him; not when even I do not know what to think of it yet.”

“You are not certain he can help you?”

“Frankly, I believe no one can help me but myself,” said the lady softly. “You must understand, Éomer. There are some matters that one has to settle by herself and this is one of them.”

“If you say so,” said Éomer with a sigh. “ I only wanted to be helpful.”

“I know and I thank you for it.”

“Still, there is something that I _can_ help you with: call a servant to help you carry your things!”

The fair haired-woman smiled at this and, with her brother’s help, resumed with her packing.

\-------------

Faramir was still waiting in the Golden Hall when Beregond found him. He noticed the man frowning, lost in deep thought and worry. The captain was baffled at this, since he had expected his friend eager to start the trip.

“Faramir?” he said hesitantly, not wanting to startle the prince.

“Yes?” answered he, turning to the captain.

“The men are ready and willing to follow their lord and his wife back to Ithilien as soon as they mount their horses,” replied Beregond in respect.

“Good.”

There was silence in the room once more. Any other captain would have waited patiently to be dismissed, but Beregond never did that and Faramir wouldn’t have it otherwise either. After so many years of mutual friendship, they had come to understand each other’s thoughts, wishes, desires and feelings so well, that a simple nod or a gesture was more sufficient than any verbal word that could be uttered. And now Beregond could clearly see that Faramir’s mind was in torment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Actually yes,” answered Faramir immediately. “That is, I meant to ask you something.”

Beregond nodded his head in understanding and waited for his friend to proceed.

“Did you notice anything strange about Éowyn?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” said the captain, puzzled.

“Did you ever see her face turning pale? Or as though about to fall in a swoon?”

“No, nothing like that, why?”

Faramir sighed, his face growing lines of anguish. He turned his face at the window that was behind him and looked vaguely outside.

“I am afraid she is sick,” he said in the quietest of tones.

Beregond stared at his friend in surprise and shock.

“How do you know this? Did she tell you?”

“She did not have to say anything, she is acting like it!” said the prince, a grim chuckle escaping his lips. However, even that slight mirth was to die out soon to be replaced by bitterness and frustration. “She thinks I do not see it, but I do, and I am at a loss as to what am I supposed to do for her. At one moment she is ravenous, the next it seems her stomach can keep nothing inside! Not to mention her dizziness and the way she hides her pain!”

Beregond listened intently to all that Faramir said, watching how the man’s hand turned into a fist and hit with controlled force the frame of the window. However, a faint smile and a spark of realisation appeared in the captain’s face as he approached his friend of old and clasped his shoulder in encouragement.

“You need not worry,” he said confidently, “Everything will turn out all right.”

“You think so?” asked Faramir, feeling now a new hope rising within him at such words.

“I know so. But first, we have to return to Ithilien.”

“Someone is in a hurry,” remarked the prince with a slight tease.

Beregond’s face flushed embarrassingly, showing how right was his lord in his guess.

“Bergil said that he would show me his progress in his military training upon my return home,” said the captain warmly at the thought of his son. “Did you know he is practising his skill with a bow now?”

“Yes, and I am told that he is actually good,” said Faramir, only to add with a slight tease: “Pity I cannot say the same thing about his father.”

Beregond let out a small groan.

“What is the use of shooting a thin piece of stick if you are not sure where it will finally end up?” he exclaimed in mock indignation.

“That is the reason one should _aim_ at his target first,” pointed out the prince, remembering one of the – very – few times that he attempted to teach his friend how to shoot when they were children.

“I _did_ aim! It was windy!” said Beregond defensively, recalling the incident very well.

“Tell that to Maldir! Come to think of it, his helmet looked quite nice with an arrow through it!”

“I do not think he chased us all over the barracks to say ‘thank you’ for decorating it.”

They both looked at each other for a few moments and then burst out laughing, unable to control themselves any longer. They had just managed to drown their laughter when Éowyn and her brother walked in, followed by a servant who carried the lady’s belongings. Both the captain and the prince became serious once more, and Beregond bowed humbly at the newcomers in greeting.

“Well, Éowyn? Is everything proper?” asked Faramir with the mildest of concerned tones that could be discerned.

“Yes, indeed,” answered the fair woman. “Shall we go down to the court?”

Faramir nodded, and then they all followed Éomer outside. All the knights of Ithilien were already on their horses, and the creatures were snorting eagerly to move on. Only three of them remained without riders, and they waited proudly for their masters to climb onto them.

However, the Lord of the Mark felt that he had to say one last thing before Faramir and the rest departed.

“Two of my scouts returned from their usual patrol and I fear their tidings were not good. They were up on a hill and too far away, but they are both certain they discerned a pack of huge, hound-shaped creatures lurking and wandering at the area you and your men will have to pass to get to Ithilien.”

“You do not know what they could be?” asked Faramir.

“No, but I can make a pretty good guess,” replied the king. “Saruman had many Warg Riders at his disposal before he was defeated and, though we destroyed almost all the Orcs that were within the reach of our sword long ago, several of their so-called steeds survived. This pack could well be the last remnants of Saruman’s Wargs.”

“What do you suggest then, my lord Éomer?”

“I wish to send some Rohirrim riders with you. Not all the way to Ithilien, mind you, for that is not possible; but at least till the borders of Rohan. Such creatures are not to be taken lightly, for too many good men have fallen victims of their ferocity.”

“So I have heard,” replied Faramir and, after a few moments of thought, added: “Your men are welcome. It seems my forces are already strong enough to ward them off, but I am not to deny a help that is offered so generously. Thank you for your kindness.”

“It is the least I can do,” Éomer assured him. He called to several of his men, who, with the readiness that distinguished the Rohirrim among the human races, jumped onto the backs of their own horses and then set themselves at the sides and rear of the Gondorian knights.

Beregond quickly settled himself on his horse too and took his position in front of his men. He watched quietly and with patience as Faramir and Éowyn repeated their goodbyes to Lord Éomer and, as soon as the couple rode their horses and started cantering away, he gave the knights the command to set out as well. He noticed some of the citizens of Meduseld looking on curiously at the march, and even watched as some children waved and cheered frantically.

However, the looks and shouts were soon to be left behind as the gates of the city closed behind the troops. The captain scanned the open plain that was laid out before his eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile as he rode on. They were going home at last.

TBC...


	2. Under Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to [Brothers in Arms](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592). Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.

The knights and the Rohirrim had been riding for almost a day and a half and Beregond noted that their journey had been uneventful so far. Indeed, there had been no sign of the pack that Lord Éomer had warned them of and that made the captain quite glad: there were other matters that needed attention. The captain had noticed how Faramir watched Lady Éowyn’s every move discreetly but continuously during their ride.

On the other hand, the lady herself seemed to notice her husband’s persistent stares and, even though there were times she didn’t bother to do anything about it, most of the time she glared back at him with a slight frown of irritation. The only comforting thought was that they hadn’t reached a quarrel for the time being.

The more Beregond pondered on this situation, the more he had to admit that Faramir had more than enough reasons to feel concerned. Ever since his friend told him about the lady’s condition he watched her at all times too, and even now he could clearly see how weakly the fair woman held on to the reins and how pale her face had become – more than it usually was anyway. On the other hand, knowing Éowyn and what was the matter with her enabled him to see that there was no need for such an alarm, and moreover, he could understand what thoughts – and fears – were causing such behaviour on her part. This was why he decided that he should talk to her alone for a while as soon as chance appeared.

It was then that Faramir’s voice calling him startled him out of his musings. He motioned his horse next to his friend’s to see what he wanted.

“You were falling behind,” said the prince. “Though you were too lost in your own thoughts to realise that. What is on your mind?”

Beregond was just about to answer when something made him ride fast to Éowyn’s side. Indeed the woman had started swaying dangerously on her horse and it was only by the captain’s quick reaction that she ended up in his arms instead of the ground. But Faramir didn’t remain idle either. He quickly followed closely behind Beregond, stopped her horse and helped his companion lower her down.

The sight was so sudden that the rest of the soldiers immediately gathered around to see what happened, but Beregond ordered them to stand back and let the lady have some breathing space. As for the prince, he was kneeling now by Éowyn and was trying his best to help her out of her swoon, holding her hand in his own and speaking to her gently.

Finally, Éowyn came around and she quickly realised that she wasn’t on her horse anymore.

“What happened?” she whispered, trying to push herself into sitting position.

However, Faramir made her lie down once more.

“You fainted,” he said. “I am afraid all these hours of riding tired you out. We have to rest.”

Éowyn wouldn’t have it though.

“That will not be necessary. I am all right now,” she said in reassurance.

“Perhaps,” replied Faramir, “but I would rather be certain of it. Anyway, we all need to stop for a while. Arriving at Ithilien a few hours later will not make a difference.”

“Because of a passing weakness?” asked the lady with a discernible edge in her tone. But her husband quickly leant close to her and spoke quietly next to her ear.

“We both know that this is not a passing weakness. And you may not wish to tell me what ails you so I can help you, but I am not going to sit back and watch you abuse yourself either. We _will_ rest.”

Éowyn looked at Faramir and she realised by the firm stare in his eyes that any more arguments would be in vain. With a light huff she stood up and started unpacking her horse without saying a single word, while the rest of the riders started unpacking their own things as well.

Faramir sighed, understanding only too clearly that he had angered her, a thing quite unfair in his opinion: he was only meaning well when he suggested the rest. He rose to his feet, his eyes meeting Beregond’s, and he shook his head in a gesture of defeat. But the captain still sounded as encouraging as ever.

“Be patient, my friend. You said it yourself that she’s not herself lately.”

“I do not think I can be patient much longer,” replied Faramir bitterly. “Why will she not tell me what is wrong with her? I am her husband! Who else is she supposed to talk to if not me?”

“She will tell you eventually, you must give her some more time though. You think this thing doesn’t trouble her also?”

“I suppose you are right,” sighed the prince and then looked curiously at Beregond. “Did this ever happen to your own wife? You seem quite calm concerning Éowyn’s situation.”

“Actually it did. A few months before Bergil was born,” answered the loyal friend with a tinge of meaning. But Faramir simply nodded his head absent-mindedly and then turned to unpack too.

“Have some men to stand guard. You can never be too careful in these parts,” he said, thus ending their conversation.

Beregond obeyed, and as soon as he sent each man to his errand he went to his own horse. It was then that he heard the Rohirrim captain, Éothain, speaking in a soothing manner to his steed, which seemed nervous by the way it flattened its ears backwards. When the Gondorian looked at his horse too, he saw to his surprise that it was just as apprehensive.

“The horses sense something,” he said to the fellow warrior.

“They do indeed, Master Beregond. And nothing all that friendly it would seem,” replied Éothain.

Beregond nodded his acknowledgement and replaced his belongings back on his horse.

“Gather your men, I will inform Lord Faramir. I’m afraid the rest will have to be put off.”

At that moment a blood-chilling howl filled the air, and both captains clearly heard one of the scouts shout “Wargs!” just before his cries were replaced by shrieks.

Beregond understood perfectly well what happened, yet there was nothing he could do but raise the alarm. “To arms! To arms!” he shouted, mounting swiftly his horse and unsheathing his sword instantly.

In a heartbeat, all the Rohirrim had mounted their own horses, soon to be followed by Faramir, Éowyn and the Gondorian knights.

“Did you see any of them just yet?” the lady asked the Rohirrim captain, her eyes darting in every direction and her sword in hand.

“No, my lady,” answered Éothain, “but they can’t be too far away.”

Faramir heard the report and acted quickly. He had barely enough time to order the men into defensive formation when the Wargs charged with many a growl. It was then that everybody saw to their horror that the flesh-hungry monsters weren’t rider-less as they were led to believe.

Nobody ever found out how these Orcs managed to escape the vigilance of the Rohirrim. Nevertheless they had, and they had slowly formed an adequate force to hunt down and attack any unfortunate traveller who happened to cross their path. Stalking and surprising their prey was their most successful tactic and they made sure that they left no man alive. In fact, the only piece of evidence that they left behind was the bodies of the animals and the men maimed by the Wargs’ jaws, which naturally gave the Orcs a sense of security from being discovered and made them bolder in each attack. And when they noticed a troop of tarks (that’s what they called Men in their foul language) only a couple of hours before, tired from riding and moreover protecting what seemed to their eyes a sickly woman, they decided that that was too good an opportunity to pass by.

Unfortunately for them, this time the attack didn’t work as well as they had planned. For one thing, one of their steeds, overcome by its thirst for blood, attacked too early despite its rider’s efforts to control it: Wargs were always difficult to handle. And also, as they came closer to the Men at full speed, they discovered that their would-be victims weren’t ordinary travellers, but warriors, armed to the teeth. The fight would prove more difficult than they had thought.

And so it was indeed. Every man fought back his assailants one after another, the Rohirrim using their spears and shields, while the Gondorians used their swords. Even Éowyn joined the fight, wielding her own sword alongside her husband and encouraging everyone with her battle cries.

Despite all their valour though, the men could not ward off their enemies easily. Soon they were separated into two groups, killing and slashing desperately with their weapons at every Warg or Orc that their eyes were set upon. To make matters worse, they were getting tired, unlike their foes that kept attacking with the same vigour and fierceness, tearing the brave men to pieces.

Beregond plunged his sword into the mouth of another Warg that dared to challenge him and looked around, wishing to see who was near him. His eyes quickly found Lady Éowyn’s form only a few feet away and he noticed with dismay that she had grown too tired to defend herself successfully much longer.

“Faramir!!!” cried the soldier at the top of his lungs.

Faramir turned and, seeing also the plight his wife, he rode with Beregond at the woman’s aid. The captain thrust his sword into the monstrous steed’s neck and the prince swiftly reared his horse so it would kick the Orc with its powerful hooves and slay him. With that done, he moved to his wife’s side.

“Are you hurt, Éowyn?” he asked worriedly.

“No,” she replied quickly. “Do not worry about me, just keep fighting.”

But Faramir clearly saw how weakly her hands held on to her sword and how heavily she breathed. He cast a brief glance at Beregond, who simply nodded his agreement. Éowyn couldn’t fight anymore without risking any injury. The prince quickly reached his decision and then turned to his friend.

“ _Beregond, cenich i dhaur?_ ”* he asked in the Elven tongue, motioning with his head to his right.

The captain looked at that direction and clearly saw the woods. He nodded, suspecting what his friend was about to say next.

“ _Mabo hen a drego ennas_ ,”** commanded the prince.

Beregond shook his head. “Faramir…” he started.

“ _Caro man pedon! Govadatham athra-taur._ ”***

The faithful man sighed in defeat, saying in a quiet tone: “ _Be iest lin._ ”****

Meanwhile, the fair woman looked back and forth at them and the forest, trying to figure out what they were saying. It was then that Beregond reached for her horse’s reins.

“No!” she exclaimed angrily and she swiftly rode after Faramir, who was now charging once more against the enemy.

Surprisingly enough, Beregond didn’t follow her, but only cried a single word, meant for the lady’s horse:

“ _Tolo!_ ”*****

The horse neighed and immediately turned back obediently. Such was the Lady’s surprise at this that she let Beregond take the reins and lead her to the edge of the forest, far from the battle. However, when the man dismounted and was about to help her down, she also dismounted quickly and slapped him with all the force of her anger and frustration.

“How could you do this?” she cried with rage.

“I only followed my lord’s orders,” said the captain passively.

“And I am your lord’s wife! All the more reason for me to be by his side in the face of danger!”

“No, my lady. All the more reason for you to be protected.”

Éowyn shook her head in disbelief and started running at the direction of the battle, but Beregond swiftly grabbed her and held her firmly against him.

“No, my lady! We must obey!”

Éowyn, however, still tried to wrench herself free, shouting at him to release her.

“They will kill him! I have to go!”

“They will not,” Beregond assured her once more in the calmest of tones. “It will take more than Wargs to kill Faramir. Trust me, my Lady. I know.”

Only then did Éowyn finally stop struggling. Beregond let her go cautiously, fearing that she might try to flee again.

However, she did nothing of the sort. She simply turned to the man, her face admitting her defeat.

“So what do you propose?” she asked.

“Meet him on the other side,” answered Beregond. “That is where he said he would be.”

“But how are we to find him? The forest is vast and it ends in more than _one_ places!”

The captain didn’t answer immediately, but looked at his surroundings, obviously trying to get a sense of direction and his mind figuring the best route to take.

“We will go south-east, the direction Ithilien lies. It will be easier from there to ride on home, once we meet again with Faramir.”

“Will he know?” Éowyn asked.

“Yes,” answered the man confidently, a slight smile appearing on his lips. “He knows _me_.”

Each of them took the reins of their own horse and they started walking deeper into the forest. Before they went any further, Beregond turned his head carefully so Lady Éowyn wouldn’t notice him, and cast a worried look at the direction of the battle, wishing with all his heart and soul that his assurances to the woman would prove true. Soon enough, the shadows of the woods swallowed them out of the sight of all friendly and unfriendly eyes alike.

TBC...

**Footnotes** :

* _Beregond, cenich i dhaur?_ = Beregond, do you see the forest? (Sindarin)  
** _Mabo hen a drego ennas_ = Take her and flee there (Sindarin)  
*** _Caro man pedon! Govadatham athra-taur._ = Do what I say! We will meet across the forest. (Sindarin)  
**** _Be iest lin._ = As you wish (Sindarin)  
***** _Tolo!_ = Come! (Sindarin).  
.


	3. Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to [Brothers in Arms](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592). Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.

Éowyn waited by the two horses, while Beregond stood a few feet away in the middle of the clearing, looking, to what it seemed to her aimlessly, in every possible direction. She was feeling her patience wearing thin now, for Beregond stopped ever once in a while to perform that same ritual, while he insisted that they shouldn’t ride the horses inside the forest: it was so thick that the poor creatures could break a leg if they stumbled on a big root. Éowyn couldn’t feel more furious about this. After all, they had to reach the end of the forest quickly, and yet the man seemed to be taking his time. Still holding on to the horses’ reins, she approached him to finally ask the question that was haunting her the last few hours.

“We are lost, are we not?”

However, Beregond didn’t respond at once. He still looked up at the sky, at the direction of the sun.

“Well?” insisted the lady.

“That way,” answered the captain, pointing to his left.

Éowyn looked at the new set of woods that Beregond pointed to and then looked at him, raising an eyebrow of disbelief.

“Are you sure? The forest seems to grow even thicker in that direction.”

“Nevertheless, it is the path that we must take. The signs are all too clear,” said the man.

“Signs? There is nothing around here to show us the way!” exclaimed the lady.

“Maybe to your eyes, my lady,” chuckled the captain, “but to me the place is filled with them. The sun is setting to my right, showing me where the West lies and the moss growing on the rock by which you’re standing now shows me where the North lies.”

“And what with that? You said we had to go South-East.”

“Exactly. And if we’re to keep that route we must walk the opposite way the Sun and the rock show, that is somewhat to the left. As you can see, there is already a path in that direction, if only not so discernible by the way the trees and the thick grass hide it.”

“And yet it is still forest! How long will it take to get through this place?” Éowyn asked again, unable to hide her anticipation.

“I honestly can’t say,” was the truthful answer. “My only hope is that it’s not as vast as you fear, my lady.”

“And if it is?”

Beregond shrugged his shoulders in a calm manner.

“Then it will take us longer to get out. Do not worry, my lady. Faramir will be waiting for us.”

“I hope you are right.”

_That makes two of us_ , thought the man, but he only said aloud: “We shall see.”

At that moment, he found two long, thick pieces of wood lying nearby and cut them to match his and Éowyn’s height respectively.

“What are these for?” asked the lady, hardly understanding what the captain was up to.

“Staffs,” replied he simply, giving one of them to her. “Use it to feel the road ahead of you. You will be able to avoid snakes and treacherously soft ground in this way.”

The woman looked at him in wonder, as they started moving again.

“Where did you learn all this? I thought the only people that were able to face the traps of nature were the Rangers of the North, certainly not Gondorian soldiers.”

“From Maldir,” answered Beregond smiling. “He was mine and Faramir’s instructor in warfare. Even though he taught us well how to wield the sword, he also used to say that danger isn’t only in the face of an enemy soldier, so he made us learn a thing or two in surviving in an unknown territory.”

“Your instructor was a wise man.”

“Yes, he was. We were quite fond of him actually.”

“Where is he now?”

“He died eight months ago,” answered the captain sadly. “You should remember it, milady. Faramir had left Ithilien at that time to attend to his funeral.”

“I remember it, indeed, I just had not been aware that it was this particular man’s funeral,” said the woman, when she realised something. “How come you did not go?”

“I’m banished from Minas Tirith for life. It is my punishment for betraying my city when I stood up against its Steward long ago.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“Don’t be, my lady, for I’m not – I did it to save a life. I only wish I could say goodbye to him. He was like a father to me.” He looked up at the sun once more. “The sunlight will fade away soon. We should be moving on while it lasts.”

And so they carried on in silence, Beregond always walking ahead on the lookout for anything unexpected and Éowyn behind with the horses, until the forest started growing dark. Night was now arriving swiftly and both the captain and the lady were able to notice stars appearing amid the leaves of the trees. It was then that the man stopped again. Éowyn froze in her own tracks as well and watched him puzzled.

“Is something wrong?” she asked apprehensively.

“No, my lady. I merely think we should stop here for the night.”

“But we hardly made any progress!”

“It is enough for today. If there were a moon, I would have ventured even further, but we’re not that fortunate. Still, now that I know the way, you can be certain that we will cover a much greater distance tomorrow. Who knows, with any luck we might even reach the edge of the forest.”

“Our luck seems to be running sour of late,” noted Éowyn grimly.

“I’m afraid it can’t be helped, my lady,” said Beregond. He took the reins from her hand and tethered the horses at a low branch of a tree nearby.

“I’ll set the camp ready for us.”

“Do you need my help?” asked the lady.

“There is no need, my lady, I’d rather you sit by the horses. Our march may not have been so long as you say, but it was still wearisome.”

“I am not that tired,” Éowyn assured him.

“Even in that case I would have you sit by the horses, for there is no reason for you to get tired. I’ll take care of everything.”

And he did, even though this dismayed the woman. He gathered plenty of firewood and made Éowyn sit next to the fire while he went to find something for them to eat. The lady was just starting to grow impatient when the man returned with some eggs and a partridge, excusing himself for taking him so long to come back.

“You should have accepted my help,” said Éowyn, not hiding a tone of rebuke.

Beregond didn’t answer, but started preparing the bird to cook it. Soon enough, the partridge was roasting in the flames, while the two travellers shared the eggs, barely exchanging a word. When the roast was ready, Beregond gave it to the woman, something that made her quite glad since she was hungrier than she had expected. However, she noticed that the man kept none for himself and, even when she offered him some, he wouldn’t have it.

“You need it more than I do,” was all that Beregond said.

However, such a response annoyed the woman to no end.

“Why?” she exclaimed indignantly, unable to control herself any more. “Because I am weaker? Do not take me for a fool, I know that ever since we have been in this forest you have been treating me as something fragile, the same way Faramir did just before the Wargs attacked us. Do you think I did not see through all the stops you made to supposedly find the way, when in fact you were making sure I rested? And I know you lied to me when you said that we shared the eggs equally, I saw clearly two eggs in your palm while I had four. I assure you, Captain, that, as a shieldmaiden of Rohan, my strength can be easily matched with that which many men claim to have, and there’s no need for you nor my husband to protect me.”

Beregond didn’t say a word while his lady spoke. However, when she was finished, he took her hand into his own and looked at her with respect.

“I know that you don’t wish for anyone to protect you, my lady, as I am also aware that you have done deeds that many men would envy. For indeed, wasn’t it you that rode out with the rest of the Rohirrim back in the war against the darkness of Sauron, even though there didn’t seem to be any hope of returning alive? Wasn’t it this hand that slew the Lord of the Nazgûl, offering our forces a chance for victory against the forces of the enemy?

“But, my lady, whether you believe it or not, there is a time that everyone needs help and protection, and no shame should there be in that. And I feel that you should accept the help that your husband and I are offering you, since you, of all people, need it at this time. After all, you have to take care of one more person beside yourself now.”

Éowyn rose startled, staring at him dubiously.

“What are you saying?” she faltered. However, Beregond was still calm.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he replied, his eyes always locked on hers. “I’m saying that you are with child.”

The fair woman’s eyes sparkled with indignation at this and her hands turned to fists.

“The healer speaks too much,” she exclaimed in anger.

“No, not the healer,” the man corrected her, still speaking calmly. “My experience. I’ve been married, my lady, and the symptoms were too many to be dismissed as mere coincidence.”

All Éowyn’s feelings of wrath disappeared instantly. She locked her gaze on the ground and sat down again, wringing her hands nervously.

“Is it so easy for one to tell then?” she asked softly.

“Like I said, only to someone who has been in this situation before.”

The lady nodded her head slightly and fell silent. Beregond watched her for some time, as she remained like this, lost in her thoughts; then spoke again.

“I know what is on your mind, my lady, and I assure you that a child is simply a step ahead in a couple’s life – especially in the case of the mother. You should not fear it, but cherish it.”

“Perhaps, but… is it a step ahead?” asked the fair woman. “I was raised to wield the sword, not remain in my chambers nursing infants. I have seen war and I came out of it alive, being strong and fighting bravely against the forces of darkness, only to come down to this? Is this the kind of fate that lies ahead of me?” She looked at the man, and sighed in resignation. “There is no answer in these questions, is there?”

“But there is,” said the captain, a smile cracking at his features.

The lady raised her eyebrow ever so slightly at this, and yet Beregond didn’t rush things. He threw some more firewood in the fire and tended the red flames with a thin piece of stick. With that done, his eyes met Éowyn’s, as she was still waiting for him to speak his mind.

“My lady, what do you know about me?”

Éowyn looked at him, rather startled by this sort of question that came out of the blue as it would seem.

“That you share with my husband a rare kind of friendship and loyalty; that you saved his life when his father, the Steward of Gondor, went mad and was even ready to order his death; and that your son is also training to become a soldier,” replied the woman after some thought.

“Ah… then you don’t know what happened to my wife.”

“No, indeed. Although Faramir told me that she had died a very long time ago. What happened to her?”

“Bergil’s birth proved too much for her and I was left behind to raise the boy alone,” replied the man, his face darkening at the painful memory. “Faramir will be able to tell you of the tale, if you ask him. But there is something that I didn’t tell him concerning the upbringing of my son. He was away when it happened and it didn’t matter afterwards.

“Bergil was about three-years-old at that time and we were both at home when, at a moment that I wasn’t paying attention, he sneaked out of the house and into the garden. When I went out to search for him, I saw to my horror that he had even managed to walk out on the road near to a cart that carried large and heavy firewood for the Citadel, and he was untying in his curiosity the very knot that kept the huge logs in place.

“Such was my fright at this sight that I ran frantically towards him and pushed him aside before any of the logs fell on him. As to what happened afterwards, I can’t say with certainty. It must have been then that the logs hit me instead, for everything went black and I remember nothing more. When I recovered, I was told that I was buried amid the firewood and that I was lucky enough to receive only a gash on the back of my head. None cared to warn me of the splitting headache that I felt the next couple of days, but that is a different story,” he ended with a slight smirk.

“But you could have been killed,” noted Éowyn.

“Which is exactly what I’m trying to say,” replied the captain. “At the very moment that I saw Bergil near that cart, all I could think of is that he might get killed and I had to save him at all costs. Whatever reservations of what might have happened to me never even crossed my mind. It was then that I realised something.”

“What?” asked the lady, wishing to see what the man was getting at with this talk.

“That the opposite of fear isn’t bravery as most believe. Fear is something deep and immeasurable and it can overcome a man at any time, rendering him powerless. Undoubtedly one can show courage and face his fears, yet there is a limit in such a trait. For, unlike in the case of fear, there is no man who is afraid of nothing at all. There will always be a time that his bravery will fail him.”

“Then what is its opposite?” asked the woman again, intrigued.

“Love. It was my love for Bergil that made me rush, without fear for myself, to my son’s aid; it was your love for King Théoden – your uncle, if I’m not mistaken – that helped you stand against the Dark Lord’s servant; it was Faramir’s love for you that made him attack the Warg Riders and help us two escape. As it will be the love for your child that will make you face even greater dangers, if need be. Moreover, unlike bravery, love can be deep and immeasurable, the same way fear is. So milady, your strength doesn’t dwindle, as you think – it grows.”

Éowyn looked at Beregond for a few moments, his words clearly making an impression on her.

“Many thoughts crossed my mind ever since the healer told me that I was expecting a child, but I have to admit that I never thought about what you told me now. I thank you.”

“You needn’t thank me, my lady,” replied the man, his eyes lowering shyly. “I only told what you would realise for yourself after the child was born.”

He looked up at the sky, trying to discern the few stars that could be seen there, and then turned to the lady once more.

“The hour grows late and we have to start our march early if we are to cover more distance tomorrow. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll stand guard a little further off if you need me for anything.”

“You have already done enough for me,” objected the fair woman, “while I have hardly done anything in return. You recover some strength instead and I will stay on watch. I assure you that I am well rested and quite capable of doing at least that; and I will not take ‘no’ for an answer, no matter how courteous that will be,” she added, seeing Beregond about to speak.

“As you wish then, my lady, even though I feel that you should be the one sleeping, not me. And I must ask you to wake me up in three hours time to take up my shift.”

“Of course. Goodnight… Beregond.”

The man froze for a few minutes, quite surprised to hear his name on the lady’s lips, but he quickly remembered himself and also said goodnight to her politely. He lied down near the fire, and it wasn’t long before his breathing became more relaxed and even, clearly proving to Éowyn that the captain had fallen asleep – more quickly than she had expected in fact: it was obvious that Beregond was more tired than he would ever admit to her.

So it was that the fair-haired woman was left alone with her thoughts. Without realising it, her hand reached and felt where she guessed the child was growing inside her. It was then that she smiled warmly, indeed for the first time in a very long time, whispering:

“My child… my strength.”

However, the smile faded almost immediately as another thought penetrated her mind.

“I only hope that your father will be alive so I can tell him of your arrival.”

She fell silent once more and remained still, watching the flames as they flickered strongly before her eyes.


	4. The Lair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to [Brothers in Arms](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592). Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.

A soft voice and a hand placed on her shoulder stirred Éowyn from her dreams. She opened her eyes and saw Beregond sitting on his heels next to her.

“My lady, wake up,” said the captain again. “The sun has risen. It is time we took up our trek once more.”

“Already?” asked the woman sleepily.

“I’m afraid so,” answered he with a slight smile; for a similar exchange of words had passed between them only a few hours ago, when he was supposed to wake up for his shift at the watch. “I have saved a pair of eggs for you. As soon as you’ve eaten them, we can set off.”

Éowyn nodded her head, rubbing the slumber off her eyes.

“Give me five minutes, I will be ready soon.”

“As you wish, my lady,” said Beregond, rising to his feet. It was then that he turned, as though remembering something.

“There is also a stream nearby, where you can refresh yourself if you like.”

“I will do that, thank you,” replied the noble woman, as she stood up. After eating the eggs hungrily, she went to the stream, which she found it with great ease. She was happy to see that the water was cold and clear, thus she washed herself, drank a little, and then she went back to find Beregond, feeling much better. To her wonder she saw that he had lost no time at all while she was at the stream: he had scattered the ashes of the fire, packed the horses; and was now waiting for her, holding the beasts by the reins.

“That was quite quick,” she noted as the man handed her the reins of her steed. “What is our course now? Still to the left?”

“Yes, till we find the edge,” confirmed Beregond.

“Then let us speed on our way. I will not hide from you that I feel rather uncomfortable in the forest.”

“I know what you’re saying, my lady, and I couldn’t possibly agree more,” said the man, his eyes glancing at the woods. “I’ll be glad once we get out.”

And with no other word, they restarted their long march.

\-----------------

They had already walked for many long hours when Éowyn stopped and asked the captain for some rest.

“Only a few moments, not more,” she said tiredly, supporting her back at the trunk of a tree. “My limbs are aching.”

“Of course, my lady, take all the time you need to recover,” said Beregond in a carefree manner. “It will be my chance to check our surroundings and see if we’re far from the end of the forest.”

“But how are you to find that out?” exclaimed the woman wonderingly.

“With difficulty,” muttered the man in answer under his breath, looking up and down at the tree by which Éowyn was standing. “I will be back shortly.”

“What?!” exclaimed the lady in utter surprise; and suddenly she saw the captain grasping the lower branches and climbing up.

It was true that Beregond didn’t have the agility or the confidence of an Elf when it came to climbing trees; nevertheless slowly - but surely - he managed to reach the highest branches that could support his weight. Holding the trunk firmly with both hands, he gazed at his left and he was pleased to see that he could clearly see the edge of the forest. It was still quite far away, but it was there, and that alone was enough to lift his spirits.

“Well?” he heard Éowyn cry up to him. “Do you see anything?”

“I saw the verge!” he cried back happily, climbing down once more. “It seems like a good way away, but we might be able to reach it before nightfall!”

“Then we had better make haste!”

“Wait a moment, my lady,” said the man, still descending nervously. “I’m afraid I’m not twenty-years-old anymore and it will take me a while to…”

A loud snap cut Beregond mid-sentence, and he found himself all of a sudden falling down and landing flat on his back with a heavy thud.

Éowyn gasped in horror and rushed to his side immediately.

“Are you all right?” she asked with worry.

Beregond sat up, wincing at the strain of this action.

“Never better,” he moaned sarcastically, looking up. “Well, that sped things up a bit.”

Surprisingly enough, such an answer made the woman laugh heartily.

“It’s nice to see you’re amused, my lady,” Beregond noted half-teasingly, half-seriously.

However that caused even more waves of laughter from the fair lady, her voice ringing through the woods clear as crystal; and even though he didn’t admit it at all, neither by his words or his facial expression, this sight gladdened the captain to no end. For the lady’s dark thoughts of late were lifted, if only for a little while.

It was then that the sound of her laughter made him realise something. He pricked up his ears, not heeding the woman anymore, and then gestured her to silence.

Éowyn’s mirth soon died down and she started looking around apprehensively.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Can you hear anything, my lady?” asked Beregond in the same soft tone.

Éowyn tried to listen to every possible sound, but there was none to be heard. In fact, there were not even birds singing.

“That’s what worries me,” said the man when Éowyn told him that. “The birds wouldn’t be so quiet if it was just the two of us in the forest. There’s something else here.”

“Whether it is a friend or foe is what concerns me,” said the woman.

“In either case, let us proceed cautiously.”

The noble lady nodded her understanding, and they soon started walking again. They had marched only a short distance, when Éowyn stopped, her ears picking up a faint sound.

“Beregond…” she said softly.

“I know, I heard it too,” replied the man in dismay. “Wargs. And I fear they’re too close for our comfort.”

“Can we not avoid them?”

“The hope is faint, because the growl was heard from the path where our road lies,” said the man, tethering the horse at a bush nearby and then he turned to Éowyn once more. “I need to see where they are headed, so we can make sure we don’t come face to face with them. You better stay here, my lady.”

He sneaked amid the thick bushes and headed for the direction the growl echoed from. However another sound made him look behind before he went too far away: it was Éowyn following him.

“My lady, please! There is no need for both of us to go.”

“I know,” the fair woman replied, “but I cannot simply stay behind and wait either.”

Beregond bowed his head in resignation, but his sigh revealed his defeat.

“Very well, my lady,” he said in the end. “But you must stay close to me at all times. The wind is on our favour for the time being and so the Wargs won’t smell us, yet we mustn’t get too comfortable – things could change.”

They crawled ahead, trying not to make too much of a noise, until they finally reached a point where the growls – and even voices – could be heard only too clearly. Beregond and Éowyn exchanged an apprehensive look and then they raised themselves to the level of a fallen trunk by which they were hiding.

Nothing had prepared them for the sight they were about to witness, for indeed they weren’t looking upon just a small number of Wargs and their riders merely passing through the forest, but a whole camp infested with the devils and their beasts. Both the man and the woman watched on in dismay as some Orcs were sitting by a fire, others were feeding the chained up Wargs (what they were actually eating, neither of the watchers dared to think), and others were even fighting amongst themselves for the sport of it.

“It’s a lair,” whispered Beregond half to Éowyn, half to himself. “That’s where the Orcs venture from to attack. That’s what they did in our case too.”

“Are you sure they are the same?” asked the fair lady. “I do not see any wounded among them after our fight.”

“Orcs don’t care for their own people enough for that,” answered the man in controlled disgust. “We’ve seen enough, let’s go. It’s obvious that we can only avoid them by taking the long way around.”

Just when the captain was about to turn away, Éowyn grasped his arm and pointed at the centre of the camp. Beregond looked hard, and he saw a great Orc arguing heatedly with a strange figure, which was clothed in a black weather-beaten cloak. Both he and Éowyn remained watching them, but what these two creatures were talking about, they couldn’t hear.

\-------------------

“Sha!” scowled Azrag in a piercing voice. “How were we supposed to know that they were soldiers, eh?”

“You should have kept these slits you have for eyes open and checked for weapons first!” said the dark face underneath the hood, his eyes gazing the Orc angrily. “Then the mess you made out of things would have been avoided!”

“We killed a lot of them before they forced us to retreat!” said the big monstrosity defensively.

“That hardly makes much of a difference, does it? What do you think is going to happen now? They will warn people, make search parties and investigate every nook and cranny to find us and exterminate us!”

“How are they to do _that_ , when they don’t know about our hideout?”

“Do you think they are fools like you, Azrag? Or that they are blind? They _will_ find it eventually!”

“And by that time, we’ll be too far away, pillaging and plundering some place else.”

It was then that the cloaked figure grabbed the Orc by his armour.

“You will do nothing of the sort, they will be on the lookout from now on,” he hissed. “We will remain out of sight and, once the vigilance is dropped, then you may start your ransacking again!”

“And then I’ll cut your throat so as not to listen to your belly-aching again!” said the Orc with hatred.

“You can try!” replied the dark face, his other hand reaching for the knife attached to his belt.

However, the fight never broke out, and neither of the two creatures had the chance to fulfil their threats, for at that very moment the Wargs started snarling and pulling their chains in frenzy.

\---------------------

“The Wargs caught our scent! Hurry!” said Beregond, pulling Éowyn to her feet and running towards the horses. They had just found them and mounted them, when they heard the monsters howling – the pursuit had started.

“Go, my lady, ride!” cried the captain, spurring his horse to a gallop.

Éowyn did just that and soon her own horse was ahead of Beregond’s. She looked back to see if the man followed her, but he quickly shouted at her:

“No, don’t look back! Ride on!”

The fair woman complied, and she led the horse with the mastery of all the people of Rohan amid trees, bushes and uneven ground without error. As for Beregond, he was still riding behind, his eyes on Éowyn, when he fleetingly noticed a shadow moving towards him. But he didn’t realise the Warg lunging at him until it was too late.

His horse neighed in terror as the beast sank its razor sharp fangs into its noble neck, and Beregond found himself on the ground, knocked off the saddle by the collision. He tried to get up after the first shock, but powerful Orkish claws held him fast in place. He struggled to free himself, but soon a great brute stood over him, growling threateningly and holding a knife against the man’s throat, thus forcing Beregond to stop.

He was their prisoner.

\-------------------

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” coaxed the Orc, yet he still was unable to cover the threatening tone in that call.

No answer was heard from the woods that surrounded him.

“You can’t hide forever, you know,” said the monster once again, “so why don’t you make it easier for both of us?”

Éowyn still watched the abomination from her hideout amid a thick set of bushes, barely moving a muscle. Her heart pounded rapidly against her chest and her hand rested on her steed’s neck to make sure that it also stayed down with her. That particular Orc had hunted her down more stubbornly than her other pursuers and she couldn’t throw him off her trail. Not wishing to come across any other foes or hurt her horse in her attempt to escape, she resorted to this tactic in the hopes that she would be missed. However, she wasn’t all that fortunate. The Orc simply wouldn’t give up.

The fiend’s sickly yellow eyes searched again for a glimpse of her everywhere, his scimitar ready at hand.

“I have to admit that you’re good. You remember my ride? Broke its neck it did, when I tried to make it follow you onto too dangerous a ground,” he cried again in a general direction, his claw rubbing his shoulder at the memory of the fall. “But you’re only putting off the inevitable. Do you think you can actually avoid all of us? And face the dangers of the forest at the same time?”

The woman let out an inaudible snort of contempt. Did that thing really believe that she would step out and say: “Here I am, why do you not slay me please?”

The horse’s neck started twitching lightly, and she stroked it gently, whispering to the horse’s ear a soothing command. The stallion couldn’t understand the lady’s words the way he could understand the Elven-tongue; but he was still a noble creature raised in the fields of Rohan, where the bonds between the horses and their masters were most powerful. Thus he realised on some level that his mistress was in grave danger and his remaining still was necessary, even though the Orc’s hideous shrieks were intimidating.

Just then, another growl was heard, followed by another Orc’s bellow.

“Come on, Radgbug! We are called back to our camp!”

“What about the female _tark_?”

“What about her?”

“She’s still at large!”

“And what of it? Her kind is nothing but trouble, hardly providing any good sport; she won’t even survive an hour in this forest on her own. But the toy we caught is indeed a find. He can last for days in our little… games.”

Éowyn’s eyes widened with worry, as she understood that they were talking about Beregond.

“But…” started Radgbug.

“But nothing!” snarled the other Orc. “Are you to disobey orders?”

Radgbug growled in answer but in the end he followed obediently. He looked sidelong to the clearing he was leaving behind, feeling that he was turning his back on the prize he was looking for; then followed the fellow Warg-Rider.

Éowyn kept still for a few more moments until she made sure that both Orcs were out of hearing range, and then she commanded her horse to rise. The proud beast did so, dragging with it the lady herself (during all this time, she had never left the saddle).

The lady clenched her fist in frustration. A part of her wished to find the Orcs that held Beregond and free him, but her more rational part chided that this wasn’t possible, since the only thing that she would manage is to get caught also. She shuddered as she thought the man in the abominations’ hands. She remembered them quite well when she had to face them at the Pelennor Fields back at the War of the Ring, and she was well aware of their cruelty and malice. They would torture the captain without mercy until, when the man wouldn’t have any more strength even to scream and thus excite their dark souls, they would throw him to the Wargs.

_I have to find Faramir_ , she decided, for she knew that if anyone would do anything within his power to find Beregond, it would her husband. She was just about to spur her horse forward, when she realised one important thing.

She didn’t know which way to go.

To her dismay she understood that the Orcs were right. Beregond was the one that guided them both through the woods but now that he was captive… how could she find the way? It was then that she remembered the man’s words. “The place is filled with signs…”

She looked at the sun and then her eyes quickly found a tree with some moss on it. Remembering how Beregond insisted on their course to the left, she rode swiftly to that direction, praying that she wasn’t going the wrong way.

\-----------------------

Beregond was pushed to the centre of the camp violently, the Orcs making a circle around him. He coughed out the dirt that he involuntarily swallowed as he landed and turned to face his opponents, but a fist hit him on the jaw and made him land on the ground again. Such was the shock of the impact that this time he remained down, his tongue tasting blood in his mouth. He was not given time to recover however, for he was dragged again by the chain that kept his hands tied and one of the Orcs forced him to look up at him.

“What’s the matter, _tark_? Can’t put up a proper fight? You’re only powerful when your kin covers your hide then? Bah!” mocked the Orc and, spitting the face of the Gondorian with hatred, he shoved him away.

Beregond wiped his face in disgust and tried to crawl away, but another of the filths stepped on his back, pinning him down. He fought underneath the abomination, struggling to slip away, but to no avail.

“Going somewhere, _tark_?” hissed the Orc, his every word dripping venom.

The creature sat on his heels, his weight always on the Gondorian, while the rest of the Orcs cheered and shouted. He pulled the man’s arms towards him with force, making Beregond grit his teeth at the strain his muscles suffered.

“A _tark’s_ bones make such a pleasant sound when they break, don’t they boys?” shouted the Orc, receiving as an answer more cheers of approval.

“So from where do you think we should start first, eh? I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll start with his fingers!”

The Orcs shouted once again, chanting wildly as they watched their comrade ready to crush the man’s fingers in his hands, while Beregond closed his eyes, expecting the worst to come yet.

“Enough!”

All cries and shouts ceased. The Gondorian felt with relief that the weight that kept pressing him was finally lifted and his hands were released harmlessly from the vile grasp. And yet the silence that fell throughout the camp made the man even more nervous about what was to follow, for he felt it was only the calm before the storm. He stayed down, not daring to see to what creature belonged the steps that he now heard approaching him. Powerful claws quickly turned him around to face him; and Beregond recognised the great Orc that had been arguing with the cloaked figure just before he and Éowyn were discovered.

“Ah, I remember you. You were among those soldiers that we fought yesterday,” said Azrag, recognising the man also. “Well, _tark_ -spy, spill it or spill blood. What were you and that female doing in these parts? You were sent to find our camp, weren’t you?”

Beregond looked at him, trying to calm his heart as it beat in a frightened manner within his chest.

“We were sent by no soldiers,” he said as truthfully as possible.

Azrag let out a blood-curdling cry and, whipping his knife out, his hand went for the man’s head.

Beregond flinched as the knife grazed by his ear and got jabbed in the ground right next to him.

“For some reason I don’t believe you,” sneered the great monstrosity. “Now unless you want me to cut small pieces off you for every lie you say, you’d better tell me where are they.”

“I don’t know,” answered the man, and then added defiantly, “and if I knew I would never tell _you_!”

This time the knife went for Beregond’s cheek, cutting along his face. Such was the pain that the Gondorian couldn’t help but cry out, something that pleased Azrag to no end.

“Where are they?” the Orc repeated slowly, but with greater menace in his words.

“I already gave you my answer!” cried Beregond angrily.

The monster showed his fangs to the man infuriated; but he never managed to do anything else, because at that moment the cloaked figure appeared and kicked the vile creature aside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” cried Azrag in utter surprise.

“What _you_ should have been doing all along: thinking before acting,” said the cloaked being, and then turned to the two Orcs closest to him. “You two, take the man and tie him up close to the Wargs. They will warn us if somebody tries to take him from there. The rest of you place guards around the camp and at the edges of the forest and come notify me if you should see anyone entering.”

“What’s the meaning of this? You can’t be seriously thinking that anyone will venture in,” said the leader of the Orcs confused. “We can kill that _tark_ -spy and the female is as good as dead in the forest! The hideout is safe!”

“You idiot! The soldiers of the West would never be so foolish to send one of their own with a _woman_ to spy. It’s obvious they ended up here by accident!”

“So?”

“If they got separated by mistake, the rest of the soldiers will try to find them, even if it means entering the forest! They will eventually find the woman, and she will lead them here!”

“Then we should show them what fate expects them should they try to attack us,” said Azrag, his hand fumbling the knife and his eyes squinting at the direction where the man was dragged away.

“No!” barked the dark face, understanding the Orc’s intention. “You will _not_ touch him!”

“What are you on about now? Do you know what will happen if the _tarks_ find him here alive?”

“Do you know what will happen if they _don’t_?” retorted the dark-clad figure. “He will not be touched, not by you, nor anyone else. He might prove our only means of escape!”

And with that, the cloaked figure turned its back on Azrag, leaving him cursing under his breath.

\----------------

Éothain looked again at the tall figure that stood silently at the very edge of the woods and then turned to the guard next to him.

“He hasn’t moved from there at all?”

“Not an inch, sir,” was the soldier’s answer.

The Rohirrim captain sighed and shook his head. Faramir had been standing there ever since the troops had arrived at that place the night before, watching and waiting for the two missing, and no one could persuade him to move away from there.

Éothain went to the blazing fire nearby, took two bowls from his pack and, after filling them both with some of the stew the soldiers had been brewing, he went to the prince and offered him one of them.

“Thank you,” murmured Faramir, accepting the food graciously. Yet he still didn’t eat. His gaze simply wandered again to the woods, trying to discern in the darkness any sign of Beregond and Éowyn.

Éothain watched him for some time and then ventured to speak.

“The guards will tell you of their arrival, my lord. Why don’t you rest? It is already very late and you shouldn’t weary yourself like this.”

“I promised Captain Beregond I would wait for him here,” said Faramir.

“But the forest is large and dense. It will take them some time to pass through it even on horseback.”

The prince actually chuckled at this.

“Gondorians can prove very determined once they set their mind on their goal, and Beregond is not an exception, you can take my word for that. I know him, Captain Éothain, and I know that the forest will not prove an obstacle to him. So no, I don’t worry about that at all: it is the Orcs that worry me, for they retreated into the very forest in which he and Lady Éowyn are. I fear that they may come across them.”

“Then we should go inside and try to find them, my lord.”

“That will hardly do any good,” replied Faramir, shaking his head. “You said it yourself, Captain: the forest is large and dense and, moreover, we don’t know where to start looking. And if we get separated to cover more distance to find them, then the Orcs will have the opportunity to kill us off one by one, since they apparently know the territory better than us. We can’t risk any unnecessary losses in such a way. On the other hand, two people might be able to escape the vigilance of the enemy – there is a thing called luck in this world yet. We will wait for five days and, if we don’t hear any news till that time, then we will enter the forest.”

“As you wish, my lord,” said Éothain.

It was then that the Rohirrim horses started neighing.

“What is happening?” asked the prince in surprise.

“I’m not sure. But the horses aren’t frightened at all, these are neighs of rejoice. Wait a moment!” exclaimed the captain, pricking up his ears. “Did you hear that, my lord?”

“I did,” replied the Gondorian noble. “A horse neighed back in answer. And the sound was coming from the woods!”

It was then that out of the darkness of the forest came trotting a proud stallion, and Faramir recognised immediately the figure that was riding him.

“Éowyn!” he cried joyfully and rushed at her side, taking the reins of the horse and stopping it.

“Faramir…” she whispered relieved, as she leaned towards him, her tired face brightening. “I finally found you. I feared that I had lost my way.”

“No, no, you did not, my love. I was waiting for you,” the prince assured her smiling. It was then that he realised something terribly wrong with the sight before him and the word “I” that Éowyn used.

“Beregond is not with you? What happened?” he asked worriedly.

“Orcs,” faltered the fair woman, bowing her head with regret. “We came across their hideout and they pursued us. I escaped but… they caught him.” And with those words, the slender form fell into a swoon, the long ride, the ordeal and the fear she had to go through proving finally too much.

Faramir grabbed Éowyn in his arms before she landed on the ground and he swiftly carried her in his tent. He placed her down and covered her with his blanket, always caressing her cheek in affection and whispering gentle words; then commanded Éothain to make sure everyone made as less noise as possible during the night. Éothain nodded his head in acknowledgment and walked out, leaving Faramir and the exhausted woman alone.

The man didn’t realise how much time passed as he watched over his wife, heeding nothing but the occasional booming of clouds clashing together, signifying that a storm was approaching. He looked again at the pale face of his beloved and wished that she would wake up soon and tell him more clearly what happened in the forest.

And Beregond? Was he dead or was there a chance that he may yet be alive? On the other hand, held captive by Orcs was often a fate worse than death…

His heart wrenched as his mind drifted involuntarily to images of his brother-in-arms in the hands of the abominations, screaming Faramir’s name in the hopes that he would come and save him, but no one coming. He looked out of the tent, where part of the forest was still visible even from where he was now sitting, and he murmured softly:

“ _Telithon an le, mellon nín_. I will come for you, my friend.”

\--------------------

The cold rain falling on his face woke him. Beregond opened his eyes, only to find himself in the nightmare that he hoped he had only dreamed of. The Orcs, as obedient as they could be, had hung him by his hands on the tree the Wargs were chained up. Now the blood-thirsty creatures were looking up at him hungrily, eagerly hoping that the rope wouldn’t hold such a nice meal up there for long.

The man shuddered at such a notion and looked away from them, his eyes falling on the camp. He was relieved when he didn’t see Éowyn anywhere; for there was hope that they hadn’t found her. Yet he wasn’t sure if that would be enough either, because, after all, the lady would still have to find her way through the forest.

_How could I let this happen?_ he thought sorrowfully, _I’m supposed to **protect** the ones I’m entrusted with, not lead them to trouble. Or getting myself in some for that matter!_

The stinging pain in his wrists cut off his thoughts. When he looked up, he saw that the rope had cut his hands nastily and they were bleeding now. Droplets of blood were even trickling down his arms mingled with rainwater as the element of nature still whipped him mercilessly. As for the dried blood on his face, it was becoming liquefied again and some drops were now falling on the ground among the Wargs.

Such a teasing scent excited the great Wolves even more and two of them actually leapt upwards to catch a morsel of him, but, to Beregond’s relief, the rope held him too far from their reach. His eyes looked again at his tied up hands.

_How long do they intend to keep me up here anyway? What do they have in store for me?_

These and many other such questions passed through his mind, having no doubt that he would find out the answers soon enough – and that they wouldn’t be pleasant.

TBC…


	5. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to [Brothers in Arms](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592). Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.

Éowyn awoke, and her eyes opened wide with surprise at her surroundings. She sat up warily, but a voice spoke to her with reassurance.

“Do not fear, my love. You are safe.”

“Faramir!” exclaimed the woman, turning instantly towards her husband. “So I found you! I thought it was a tired mind’s trick.”

“No, far from that,” replied the man. “How are you feeling now? You were quite exhausted last night.”

“I am much better, really. It is for somebody else that we should worry now.” And with a few brief words, Éowyn told everything that happened to her and Beregond: how they found the Orcs’ lair; how the Wargs sensed them and raised the alarm, and how she managed to escape and learn of Beregond’s captivity.

Faramir listened intently to everything his wife had to say, his face growing more worried as she kept talking. However, he didn’t interrupt her tale, but spoke only after she had finished.

“Are you sure about what that Orc said concerning Beregond? That he will last for days in their little games?”

“Yes.”

“Then they intend to keep him alive at least for so long,” said the man with as much relief as the circumstances allowed. “But how are we to get him out of there? It is almost certain that the Orcs will be waiting for us if we enter the forest.”

“But we cannot leave him in their clutches!” exclaimed the lady.

“Of course not! That is not even an option! Yet we cannot just attack mindlessly in the vague hope that we can defeat all the devils either.”

“Then what _can_ we do?”

Faramir sighed in exasperation and then sat on a chair nearby, soon to be lost in thought. Éowyn watched him sitting perfectly still, his eyes having an intent look; and, however strange that thought seemed, she couldn’t help thinking that at that moment Faramir reminded her a lot of Beregond. Indeed, that kind of posture had the captain too when he was sitting by the fire next to her the night before yesterday. _Unlike, and yet very much alike_ , she figured.

It was then that it was made clear to her that the long friendship that existed between the two men had affected them in more ways than it seemed, including their behaviour and mood. And she understood that if one of the two died before his time, it could break the other’s heart. She wished now more than ever that Faramir would find a way to free Beregond, for such was the love that she had for her husband that she didn’t wish to see him suffer in such a terrible way. By now she had even regretted that she hadn’t told him of her pregnancy and had him worry so much. Thus she promised herself that she would tell Faramir everything once she got the chance.

At that moment the prince rose, his eyes shining with resolution.

“Tell Éothain to gather the men by the fire. I will give them further instructions there. And make sure they are all armed.”

“You know what to do then?” asked Éowyn with new hope in her voice.

“Yes. It will not be an easy task and it might prove dangerous for Beregond, but it is worth the try. You will know what it is once the men gather around.”

As soon as Éowyn rushed outside to find Éothain, Faramir put on his own armour. He picked up his sword that was laying nearby and, grasping it firmly by its hilt, looked at its blade.

“You had better be alive, Beregond, or the Orcs will witness such a wrath that would make a dragon quail!” he declared, feeling his soul burning inside him. He buckled the weapon to his side and, when he was fully armed, he went to find the soldiers by the fire.

\-------------------

Beregond’s situation only got worse. He had been left hanging above the Wargs all night, suffering the rain and cold; and now it seemed that the Orcs intended to keep him up there all day as well. Even though he was able so far to cope with that, as well as his hunger and thirst, the rope kept cutting his wrists at the slightest of movements. Not to mention that the strain to which his back was subjected after so many hours of his arms held up by force was becoming unbearable.

All these torments at the same time fatigued him to no end and made him feel sick and weak. All he was left to do was wearily watch the Orcs circulating in the camp, hardly noticing their crouching gait or their nervous and angry talk. He didn’t even heed the Wargs’ growls anymore.

However, something was bound to draw his attention at last: he saw the cloaked figure speaking with the leader of the Orcs. Beregond couldn’t hear what they were saying; but, by the cold glances that were cast at his direction, he had the feeling that it had to do with him.

\-----------------------

“You are sure of this?” asked the cloaked figure again.

“My men saw them riding into the forest about three hours ago,” replied Azrag.

“Riding? So they come on horses then. How many?”

“They counted twenty of them. The female _tark_ is with them.”

“Of course she is, she is the one that leads them! So… they are finally planning to save their comrade. Quite valiant of them I am sure,” said the dark face, curling his lip in distaste; then looked once more to Beregond’s hanging form. “He should feel flattered. It is quite unusual that all these men go through this kind of trouble for just _one_ of their own.”

“Maybe he’s someone of importance, an officer probably,” remarked Azrag.

“Perhaps. That certainly explains the well-crafted armour and sword that your men took from him. We should consider ourselves fortunate. They won’t wish any harm coming to him, so they will let us go peacefully if we so much as threaten that we will hurt him.”

The great Orc looked up at Beregond’s direction and then returned his gaze to the dark clad form, a strange glint shining through his eyes.

“Why don’t we use this to our advantage?”

“What do you mean?” asked the being, obviously not pleased with what it might hear.

“Let us kill two birds with one stone. Let’s see how much they are willing to give for the _tark’s_ freedom,” hissed Azrag, and quickly turned to some Orcs nearby. “Bring the prisoner here.”

“Ransom?!” exclaimed the figure as soon as the Orcs were gone. “You must be joking!”

“You agreed with me when I said that the tark must be of importance.”

“Yes, but to nothing more! The horsemen are soldiers, remember? What makes you think that they will carry anything of value with them?”

“Even surrendering their weapons should be enough. A fine blade or two will make us an even more formidable force to reckon with.”

At that moment, the Orcs brought Beregond close to Azrag. The abomination looked down at the human for a while, and then cupped Beregond’s chin with his claw to force him to look up at him.

“I’m sure they won’t object to such terms in order to save him,” he continued. “Otherwise they’ll only get back his head.”

The Gondorian didn’t say a word, but his eyes revealed all the hate and loathing he felt for his captors; for he had heard Azrag’s last words and quickly figured out what his intent was. His heart wished more than ever that there was something he could do to prevent the Orcs from manipulating Faramir and the soldiers in such a way. Yet the ropes around his hands and legs didn’t make that possible.

“You seem to forget one important thing,” said then the cloaked form.

“Oh?” said Azrag, letting go of Beregond and looking back at his ally.

“They may not surrender anything. In fact, let me tell you what else might happen. They might not wish to make such dealings with somebody whom they would not trust even if he had asked half as much. And that means that they will attack us, not caring anymore for the captive, or even hoping that they will manage to get him back by force. Either way, it means the death of us all, because you would not settle with simply walking out of here alive!”

Azrag stretched his posture challengingly at the figure.

“You just have the answer for everything, don’t you? Ever since I let you tag along with us, you’ve done nothing but order us about!”

“You forget what I am and your place, Azrag!”

“On the contrary, it seems that I remember it again finally!” cried the brute. “I’ve had enough of you. I don’t hate every _tark_ on the face of the earth to the death just to put up with you!”

Beregond tensed at such a revelation from the Orc’s part. So the dark-clad being was of human race! He looked up again in the hopes that he would be able to discern his features, but, unfortunately, the cloak covered the face only too well. By watching the man clenching his hands with rage however, the Gondorian was able to notice on the back of one fist a tattoo of a red eye. That assured him, more than ever, that the man before him used to be under the service of Sauron. Indeed, Beregond had heard of servants of the Dark Lord bearing his mark, yet this was the first time in his life that he actually saw one. But how could it be that he ended up with the Orcs in these parts of the world was beyond Beregond’s understanding.

“So you will not put up with me anymore?” said the dark man wrathfully at that moment, cutting Beregond’s train of thought. “Then don't! I have had enough of your stupidity myself! I am leaving this place and you and your petty thieves can get yourselves killed for all I care!”

And with no other word, he walked away; but Azrag still wanted to have the last word in the conversation.

“Good riddance, I say! I just hope that the poor creature, to whose stomach you’ll end up, won’t get too sick!”

Beregond cringed and turned his head away as the Orc’s shrieks pierced his ears and rung through his head. When he looked up again, the cloaked man was nowhere to be seen.

However, the Gondorian didn’t have time to think of the matter, for at that instant a stinging pain that started from the wrists coursed through his body, and it took a great amount of effort to hold back his exclamation of pain. Azrag had just wrung the rope that kept his hands tied together, thus making the bonds even tighter.

“My business with you is far from over,” Beregond heard the Orc growl close to his ear, something that made him shudder - he understood perfectly well what was meant with these words. He closed his eyes, and helplessly awaited the new torments of his captor.

\-----------------------

Faramir’s eyes darted again in the direction of the trees that surrounded him and then back to his men and Éowyn. By the way everyone had tensed and held to their weapons showed him clearly that he wasn’t the only one feeling that they were being watched. Even the horses would occasionally let out snorts of apprehension. Yet no noise betrayed to him the exact whereabouts of the Orcs, nor did it seem that they planned any attack soon. They seemed to content themselves by keeping an eye on the intruders instead. Faramir started to understand now how well organised this particular band of Orcs was, and also how difficult it might prove to free Beregond.

Éowyn, meanwhile, motioned her horse next to Faramir’s and touched his shoulder lightly.

“We are close,” she whispered. “The place is getting more familiar with every step we make.”

“So do the Orcs,” whispered back the prince and, discreetly raising his hand, pointed to his right.

Éowyn turned her head slowly and she noticed the two Orcs that were by some bushes, ready to shoot them should any fight break out.

“I hope your plan works,” murmured the woman under her breath.

“We will soon find out,” was all that Faramir replied.

It wasn’t long before they reached the borders of the camp. Faramir gave the order to halt and wait for anyone to appear. At first it was a surprise to him to find the place empty of Orcs, as though deserted; but he quickly saw that the fiends were only making sure that it was safe for them before they came out of their hiding places. As he still looked at the monstrosities jumping out from everywhere, his eyes fell on a pole at the centre of the camp. His heart missed a beat when he recognised the bowing form that was tied to it.

“Beregond!” he called worriedly, hoping dearly that his friend would be able to answer back to him.

Truly, the captive raised his head weakly at hearing his name, revealing to Faramir the cut and the bruises that marred his face. However, Beregond never found the will to answer in time, for another voice broke forth.

“Don’t waste your breath on him!” cried Azrag, strolling up to the pole and bringing himself close to the bound man. “Whatever you want to discuss, you’ll discuss it with me!”

“What do you want?” said Faramir.

“Two things,” answered the Orc. “You won’t attack us while me and my men walk out of the forest. Your comrade will be set free once we are safely out!” _Or so you’ll hope,_ he added in his mind.

“And what is the second demand?”

It was then that Beregond shook his head violently.

“Don’t deal with him, no matter what!” he cried hoarsely.

“Quiet, you!” exclaimed Azrag enraged, slapping the Gondorian with the back of his claw. Such was his force that Beregond hit his head on the pole, making him so dizzy that he slumped forward, slipping almost to unconsciousness.

Faramir watched the scene unfolding before him in exasperation, his eyes locked onto the abomination furiously.

However, the fiend didn’t care to concern himself about that.

“The second demand is this: You will surrender your weapons and lay them at my feet!”

Exclamations of surprise and indignation were heard amid the soldiers, but Faramir calmed everyone down by raising his hand.

“How can I be certain that you will release the prisoner, should we agree to these terms?”

Azrag grinned evilly, revealing his fangs.

“You can’t. But why risk your man’s life by doing otherwise?”

“Because I know your kindred’s ways only too well!” answered the prince in defiance. “FIRE!”

What was to follow happened in the blink of an eye. To Azrag’s surprise, Orcs and Wargs started shrieking and falling down, pierced by arrows that flew from every direction. As for the rest of the Rohirrim, led by Éothain, they charged in on their horses, throwing their spears upon every foe that their eyes set upon.

Too much confidence finally proved the downfall of the Orcs. They were so engrossed on watching and following the Gondorian knights that none was left behind to see the _second_ team of riders that consisted of the Rohirrim entering into the forest as well. Keeping in small groups and making sure they stayed against the wind at all times, so as not to be sniffed out by the Great Wolves, the Rohirrim silently killed every Orc that crossed their path, until they finally reached the camp and surrounded it. Faramir merely distracted Azrag with his negotiating long enough till everyone was in place for the attacks.

Now all the Orcs were running helplessly hither and thither trying to save themselves. Though some of them attempted to fight back, it was of no use: the Rohirrim were everywhere, and now the Gondorians had joined in the fight as well, hewing them with their swords as they rode throughout the camp. The shelters were soon set on fire; and the flames soon engulfed the place, trapping the Orcs so that there was no way of escape for them.

Faramir was slaying another one of the abominations, when he suddenly saw to his dismay that the fire was getting dangerously close to the centre of the camp, where Beregond was tied. He swiftly turned to Éowyn, who was fighting beside him.

“Lead the men in my stead! I am going for Beregond!” he cried and, without even waiting for his wife to answer back, he rode up to the pole.

To his horror, Beregond was gone. The prince quickly scanned the ground for any possible clue as to what could have possibly happened, and found drops of black Orc-blood trailing away. Guessing whose blood might that be, he spurred his horse to the same direction, praying that he wouldn’t be too late.

\---------------

Beregond tried to will himself to remain conscious. It was a great difficulty to register what was happening to him through half-closed eyes and ringing ears; nevertheless he still felt immense heat surrounding him and thick smoke blocking his lungs, while somebody was dragging him by the collar. Looking up, he saw Azrag’s form. He made a feeble attempt to pull himself away, but the Orc’s talons grasped even more tightly.

“You’re not going anywhere!” snarled Azrag, facing the Gondorian.

Beregond noticed an arrow sticking out of the abomination’s chest, but before he had the chance to see much more of the wound though, Azrag unsheathed his scimitar.

“If you think you will be saved after all, you’re wrong!” the great Orc declared and, letting out a cry full of hate, he raised his hand to strike.

However, Beregond wasn’t willing to give up so easily. With an amount of energy that he hadn’t realised he had till now, he placed all his weight on his back and lunged his legs upwards, kicking Azrag on the stomach.

Though the Orc bent over in surprise and pain, he quickly recovered; whereas the man found himself coughing violently after such an effort his lungs suffered. Azrag grabbed him once more, this time by the hair, forcing him to face him.

“You’re just fighting off the inevitable,” he hissed, raising his scimitar again.

Azrag never managed his deathblow; for, at that very moment, Faramir appeared on his horse and with a swift swing of the sword struck him down. Only seconds after the Orc’s body fell to the ground, the prince jumped down from his steed and rushed to Beregond’s side. The bound man’s eyes shone with relief and gladness as Faramir cut the ropes from his hands and legs.

“I knew you would come,” he said, smiling weakly.

But Faramir’s eyes betrayed only sadness.

“I wish I had come sooner,” he replied, seeing the abused wrists and face.

“They are not as bad as they seem, don’t worry,” the captain assured him, just before another series of coughs broke out from his lips. “But we had better go, otherwise the smoke will smother both of us.”

“Can you ride?” asked Faramir with worry, helping Beregond rise to his feet.

“I think so,” replied the latter, standing up.

However, the prince noticed how the captain’s legs trembled, unable to hold his weight for long.

“Here, lean on me for support,” he suggested; and, holding his comrade, they soon went up to the horse. He helped Beregond up, and then he climbed up behind him, offering again his body frame for support. However, by the time they did all that, they were completely surrounded by the flames and the smoke only got thicker.

“Things are getting better and better,” remarked Beregond hoarsely.

“Just hold on,” said Faramir amid his own coughs. Without hesitation, he spurred the horse towards the red tongues and commanded it in the Elven-tongue to jump. The steed obeyed bravely and without hesitation, and so both riders were safely out of the fiery circle.

Still, Faramir kept riding until he had placed a safe distance between them and the raging fire, and only then did he eventually stop. After dismounting, he assisted Beregond down as well so his friend could rest his back against the trunk of a tree while he examined his injuries.

“You are right, they are not as bad as I thought at first,” he admitted. “Nevertheless, I will have to clean them and bind them.” He ripped a piece of fabric from his sleeve and, after wetting it with water from his gourd, used it to wash the abrasions.

Beregond didn’t say a word, but the prince noticed how his friend’s muscles tensed at the treatment and he bit his lower lip. Though Faramir didn’t like to cause more discomfort to the captain, he couldn’t do otherwise: the wounds had to be tended. And so, trying to be as gentle as possible, he carefully wiped the dried blood away from the injuries and used some clean bandages that he had in his pack to bind the wrists.

“You carried a medical pack when you knew you had to be free of burden to fight?” asked Beregond, raising an eyebrow.

“I had figured you would not be in the best shape after freeing you,” replied Faramir with a tinge of teasing in his voice; but he soon sobered again. “I am glad that nothing worse happened to you. Or even…” he paused, not wishing to utter the deepest worry that had haunted him.

Surprisingly enough, Beregond smiled.

“I was afraid of that too when I was captured,” he said, “but only for a little while.”

“Oh?” said Faramir, surprised. “What happened that made you think otherwise?”

The captain closed his eyes, his mind recalling the memories of his captivity.

“The Orcs had hung me for the night on one of the trees that surrounded the camp, letting the Wargs do the guarding for them. All I was left to do was to guess at what would be my fate, one dark thought following another. Soon I had despaired; for I truly believed that I would die in this place before any help could arrive in time – if it ever arrived.

“But then another thought entered my mind. A silly one, I have to admit, and yet because of it I made a promise to myself that filled me with hope – and I intend to keep it even now that the danger has passed.”

“What thought?”

“That I am the First Captain of Ithilien and under your service, so if anyone should decide whether I should die or not, it is _you_ and not some fiends. And that was the promise I made to myself: to die when _you_ say I can.”

Faramir didn’t speak, thinking of what Beregond just told him and feeling quite touched by the depth of his friend’s loyalty.

“I knew it was a silly thought,” murmured Beregond tiredly, opening his eyes a little when his ears picked up the long silence.

“Silly… and yet not so,” replied the prince, smiling. “And I also know now that you will have a very long life indeed!” he added, causing both of them to chuckle slightly.

At that moment, Éothain appeared, his horse by his side.

“Lord Faramir, all the Orcs and their steeds have been killed. The men are now putting out the fire as well.”

“Good news, Captain. As soon as the men are done, give the order to settle here for the night, it has been a difficult day for all of us. We will burn the carcasses in the morning and so destroy any trace of their vile presence here.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Faramir watched Éothain walk away, and then his face brightened up with another teasing grin.

“Now that will be quite a story to tell Bergil upon returning home, will it not, my friend?” he said; but when he turned to look at Beregond, he saw him sound asleep, exhaustion finally catching up with him.

The prince smiled warmly at the calmness that could be discerned on the sleeping form’s face, then unclasped his cloak and covered him up to his shoulders to keep him warm.

“Rest, my friend,” he whispered to him softly. “You certainly need it.” And, being careful not to disturb Beregond’s sleep, he rose quietly and went to find Éowyn and the others.

\---------------------

Early the next morning, after the bodies of the Orcs had been piled and burned, Faramir came across Éowyn, who was holding a flask of water.

“I wanted to take some water to Beregond,” the fair lady said at her husband’s questioning look. “But he is still sleeping, and I did not wish to wake him.”

“I am glad you did not,” said Faramir, embracing her and holding her close. “I would rather have him regain most of his strength before setting out again, even though I understand you want to return to Ithilien as soon as possible.”

“Me?” exclaimed Éowyn with surprise.

“You do not remember? We argued about it before the Warg attack: I suggested some rest and you would have none of it.”

“Oh!” said she, recalling the incident also. “Concerning that… My apologies. It is just…”

But she didn’t continue.

“What?” asked the noble man, looking into her eyes and pleading her with his own to carry on.

“I was too stubborn to listen even when our own child demanded the rest,” she murmured.

Faramir, however, heard her; and his eyes widened in realisation, as soon as the words sank in.

“Our child? You mean you are…?” he faltered, dumbfounded.

Éowyn nodded yes, smiling. The prince stared at her for a few moments at a loss. And then, letting out a joyous cry, he crushed his lips onto hers, scarcely containing his excitement at such news.

“And to think I was so worried all this time!” he said, relief echoing in his every word since Éowyn’s past behaviour finally made sense. “But why did you not tell me sooner?”

“I merely could not bring myself to do it,” she admitted, blushing. “I did not know what to make of it; and, frankly, I did not know how you would react. Although it seems that I did not need to worry myself in either case,” she added with a smile.

Faramir smiled back and, still looking with love into her eyes, he knitted his fingers into hers and rested his forehead against her own.

That was how Beregond found them when he awoke; and he was gladdened to see them like this together, for they reminded him so much of his own time with Almiel. He sighed with nostalgia and walked away, letting them be. This, after all, was Faramir’s time with Éowyn.

Later that day, everyone was ready to leave. They mounted their horses and they started cantering away once more out of the forest, resuming their journey to Ithilien.

As they rode on, however, Faramir noticed Beregond uneasy and constantly slackening his pace on his new horse. Telling the rest to move on, he rode next to him concerned.

“Beregond, is something the matter?”

The captain looked again around without answering. He wanted to find at least a trace of the cloaked servant of Sauron, but nothing could be seen. Though that made him nervous and restless, it was with a calm face that he turned to Faramir.

“Probably nothing. I will tell you when we get safely back to Ithilien,” he said with a small reassuring smile.

The prince nodded in answer, appeased for the time being, and they both quickly rode to catch up with the rest.

TBC…


	6. Ulfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to [Brothers in Arms](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592). Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.

It wasn’t long before the riders reached the borders of Rohan, where the Rohirrim and the Gondorians parted. Faramir thanked Éothain for the valuable services he had offered during the ride and then both parties separated, each to follow its own way: the Rohirrim back to Edoras, and the Gondorians to Ithilien. The rest of the journey was uneventful, so it wasn’t long before Faramir and his men reached the fortress of Emyn Arnen.

The structure was built after the War of the Ring as stronghold against any unexpected attacks from Easterlings or other peoples still acting in the name of Sauron, even though the Dark Lord was vanquished a very long time ago. Dwarves had built it, just as they had rebuilt the city of Minas Tirith, using strong stones and metals from their own mines and using all the constructing skills for which they were well known. Soon after the fortress was built, the first houses started to be built near it also. In the beginning those houses belonged to soldiers who happened to have a family; but soon more people came from the realm of Gondor and settled themselves in Emyn Arnen. Thus it was that, within five years of its construction, a small but fair town was formed there under the rule of Faramir, while the fortress itself not only provided dwelling for the prince, his wife and the court, but also barracks were the soldiers were trained; and shelter to every passer-by that happened to cross these particular lands.

There it was that Faramir and Éowyn were returning to; and there it was that Beregond had said goodbye to his son, only to be welcomed warmly by the latter once more after so long a time of absence. And, after the captain recovered fully and recounted his adventure in the fullest to Faramir, Bergil, his men and everybody who happened to be interested in it, everything started taking its natural course in the safety of the fortress’ walls. Beregond took up his duties as the First Captain of the guards and instructor of the young trainees in swordsmanship, while he watched his own son taking his last lessons before finally becoming a squire. Faramir resumed with ruling his realm, while Éowyn stood by his side, their child growing inside her day by day. Life indeed couldn’t seem more peaceful, and soon Beregond put the terrors of his captivity behind.

One night, however, while Beregond was getting ready to go to bed, exhausted after a long wearisome day, he heard a knock on the door. When he opened, he saw that it was Damrod, a trustworthy man who had been under Faramir’s service as a ranger back in the War against Sauron, and now captain of the second company and Beregond’s second-in-command. Since Beregond himself was always the last to sleep in the fortress except for the guards at their posts, it was quite a surprise for him to see the second captain up at this time of night.

“Sorry to disturb you, Captain,” Damrod said apologetically. “But I am afraid it can’t wait. You are asked for in the Great Hall at once.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Beregond worriedly. The fact that Damrod – not a soldier - had come to fetch him troubled him greatly.

“Nothing that I know of. Lord Faramir just told me that your presence was needed there.”

Beregond actually frowned at this. What could be the meaning of it all?

“Wait for me, I will go get my overcoat,” he told Damrod. Within minutes they were heading for the Great Hall, the place where Faramir held all his hearings, and soon they reached its doors. However, Damrod didn’t go inside, but only bowed his farewell to Beregond and left, saying that his task was done. Feeling more curious then ever, Beregond pushed the doors open.

He only saw three other people in the Hall. Two of them were Faramir and Éowyn, whose pregnancy was fairly obvious now, sitting in their thrones. But he didn’t recognise the other man that was standing in front of them bowing his head in humility; nor he had ever seen someone quite like him before. His adornment was very unusual for these parts of the world and it had the bright colours of the Easterlings, yet the man didn’t seem like an Easterling himself. His body frame wasn’t so much tall as it was powerful and stocky, while his stature and the way he stood upright betrayed a trained warrior. But it was the eyes that made the greatest impression on Beregond, for when he had entered, they had fixed themselves on him and pierced him through, making the captain feel shivers down his spine.

In a matter of moment, Beregond quickly remembered himself and turned to Faramir.

“I was told you wanted to see me,” he said to his friend.

“It is true. Pray come closer and hear the man’s tale,” said Faramir, beckoning Beregond to stand by his side, as it was appropriate at the hearings.

The captain did that, although somewhat nervously. The man still gazed at him with the same piercing look in his eyes, his face as if chiselled out of stone; for there was no emotion reflected there. But it was to Beregond’s wonder that, when he returned to facing Faramir, his features softened and his eyes carried a saddened expression, an almost pitiable one.

“You may continue with your tale, stranger,” said the prince courteously. “You said you used to be in Sauron’s army?”

“Indeed I said that, my lord,” said the man. “I was taken away as a child to serve him and his evil ways and, as soon as I was trained, I became one of his many soldiers who fought in the Great War that took place five years ago. After his defeat, our lands became desolate and we all strived to rebuild them from their ashes, without having the Dark Lord dominating us through his malice and cruelty.

“Yet it wasn’t enough. People were still hungry, and I couldn’t offer my services to help those that needed my assistance, for the only skill that I had ever learned was the one of the sword. Thus I decided to leave, hoping that somewhere I would be able to find someone to whom I could offer my services and thus repay him for the kindness he would show me by accepting me in his abode. Far and wide I travelled, but no one needed me, for after Sauron’s defeat, everyone in the Eastern lands had grown tired of fighting, and even the opposing clans wouldn’t go against each other anymore. During my journey, I finally crossed the borders into the mighty lands of the west; and now I find myself in your realm, pleading you to receive me. I know you have already worthy warriors and perhaps you do not care for one more; but believe me, my lord, should you accept my services, I shall not fail you in any way.”

Everyone listened to the story with interest while the man unravelled it to them; until finally he ended and again bowed his head low.

“What is your name, stranger?” asked Faramir.

“Ulfast, my lord, from the Númenóreans of the East,” said the man.  
  
 _A Black Númenórean you mean_ , thought Beregond with slight disgust. He had heard of that branch of the people from Ancient Númenor who renounced the Valar and turned to the Dark Forces, becoming their most faithful servants. If Beregond had felt uncomfortable near him before, now that the man’s lineage was revealed it was with great difficulty that he refrained himself from ordering the soldiers outside to place him immediately in the dungeons; because he knew that that race was the most treacherous and wicked that existed on Middle-Earth beside the Orcs and that, wherever they went, it was certain that woe would follow soon afterwards. But that kind of call was not up to him to make. He could only follow Faramir’s orders. He turned to him to see what his decision would be on the matter.

Faramir arose and looked at Ulfast.

“Your race has always been fighting against our own. Despite that, you decided to come here?”

“I am well aware of that my lord and I care not. I don’t wish to fight for a cause that has been lost so long ago, but only make a new beginning. I merely need one chance to prove my worth.”

Faramir remained silent for several minutes, clearly considering what he had heard so far, and then turned to Éowyn.

“You heard the tale. What say you, my love?”

Éowyn turned a hard glare at Ulfast, clearly showing her mistrust in him.

“The Black Númenóreans have always set themselves against the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. How can he prove to us that his own intentions are otherwise?”

Faramir nodded his understanding and then turned to Beregond, his eyes asking also for his own opinion.

“The lady has spoken my mind as well, my lord,” said the captain.

Faramir looked again at Ulfast, who, while the prince wasn’t paying attention, had turned a hateful look on Beregond, one that Beregond didn’t fail to notice.

“What say you to them, Ulfast?”

“I say that they let their own fears against my people blind them and they do not see that one cannot answer for the sins of all. He merely carries on with his life as he knows best. Keep me under your service and I shall prove both of them wrong as to my intentions.”

Faramir regarded the man for a few more moments and then he spoke again.

“You have answered well. So be it then. Guard!”

One of the soldiers by the door stepped up in front of his lord and bowed.

“Take our guest and escort him to a room where he can rest. He travelled far to come to this place.”

The soldiers nodded his acknowledgment and took Ulfast away.

Beregond watched the scene with a slight dismay, but he didn’t say a word. It was then that Éowyn arose.

“I am feeling rather weary, love. I had better head for bed.”

“I shall follow you soon, dear,” answered Faramir.

And with that, the fair woman walked out of the room.

Only then did Beregond decide to confront his friend.

“I would never doubt your judgment, you know that.”

“But?” asked Faramir, guessing that his friend wasn’t pleased with his decision.

“But,” continued Beregond, “I don’t see the reason to welcome somebody who used to serve our enemies, even if it was so long ago.”

Faramir’s mouth curved to a small smile.

“I understand what you are trying to say, and I do not blame you for it. Yet think about it: we were not the only ones who suffered from the War. _They_ had to face fear and horror also; they too mourned the dead and lost everything that meant something to them. War made corpses of us all: some physically, some emotionally. And now there is this one who claims that he wants to make something different with his life. Why should I not give him a chance when he asked it of me? For the sole reason of what he used to be? That is something that only a _true_ servant of the Dark Lord would think.”

“You believe then that he really wants to reform?” asked the captain.

“Let me put it this way… if you were all alone, away from home and desperate enough to walk into the doorstep of your former enemy to ask for shelter, wouldn’t you like him to accept you?”

Beregond considered this for a few moments. He had to admit that Faramir’s reasoning made sense. On the other hand, Beregond couldn’t help feeling that this Ulfast couldn’t be trusted. He had listened to the man’s narrative, and the more he heard, the more he felt uncomfortable near him. For some reason, or rather, for _many_ reasons that he couldn’t place, his every instinct cried out that the Black Númenórean was lying. At least, the story seemed pretty vague and the captain figured that that man was telling far less than he kept within himself. Moreover, the cold stare against him and the sad one toward Faramir made Beregond think something was amiss as well, for it was as though Ulfast man was trying his best to make the prince like him. Even his fair talk seemed to Beregond too… well, acted seemed a quite appropriate word.

Come to think of it, the captain had to admit that it wasn’t so much the things that Ulfast spoke of that alarmed him as it was the voice itself uttering them. Beregond was certain that it sounded familiar, but where had he heard it before? All he knew for sure was that his mind had somehow connected that kind of tone with something that had happened some time ago. Yet was that something good or bad? Bad more likely: the discomfort his heart felt upon seeing the Númenórean pointed to that direction anyway. Beregond racked his mind to remember, but it was impossible to recall it.

“Well, Beregond?” asked Faramir again, noticing that his friend took some time to answer.

The captain raised his head and nodded slightly.

“You are right, my lord, I had not thought of that. I still won’t feel at ease by his presence just yet; however, I will obey you as I have always done, and I will be willing to give him at least the benefit of the doubt once he proves himself.”

Faramir’s face brightened up with relief.

“Good,” he said. “That will be all then. Thank you for understanding, my friend.”

“What are friends for?” said Beregond, winking; then walked out. He suspected that Faramir understood it, but he still preferred to avoid telling him that he would keep an eye on Ulfast at all times, not trusting him or his intentions. And little did he know how right he was to show so little faith to the Black Númenórean.

\----------------

Ulfast was lying on the bed of the guest-room to which he had been escorted, but he wasn’t sleeping, for this turn of events that he just witnessed was quite unexpected and he couldn’t help but feel intrigued by it. He had recognised Beregond and he was surprised to see him here, of all the places of the world. The last time he had seen him he was nothing but a beaten up, broken man, held by Azrag down on his knees, his eyes full of loathing as he desperately tried to prove to his captors that he wasn’t afraid. And now there he was again, a captain no less, enjoying the comforts of a home! Azrag was right when he said that their former captive was of importance – he had heard the master of the castle telling a servant to bring the _first captain_ just before Beregond himself appeared. The tricks that fate plays sometimes!

Fortunately for him, the man didn’t recognise him: if he had, then he would have raised the alarm at that very instant. Still, Ulfast discerned a slight look of perplexity in the man’s eyes; and he had also noticed the inquiring stare at him all the while that he was telling his story.

_It matters not_ , he concluded in thought. _There is a great difference between suspecting and actually knowing **who** one is_. After all, there was no possible way that the captain could find out Ulfast’s true identity. Ulfast had made certain that he stayed cloaked during the man’s captivity at all times; not to mention that the captain wasn’t in the best condition to register much; and now he certainly remembered much less, since everything happened quite some time ago.

He placed his gloved hands underneath his head, smiling pleased with himself. He had hid himself thus far masterfully - which is more than could be said about that fool of an Orc that had dared to disrespect him in such a pathetic way. He saw what the men did to the camp and to the Orcs as he passed through again in his wanderings. Well, Azrag should have listened to him. Now he had paid the price. Still, what could one expect from such a mindless race as Orcs? Ulfast hated them with all his heart and he was gladdened to be rid of them at last for good.

What had come over him to join them in their ransacking he never understood. He was never supposed to interact with such low creatures in the first place, back to the days that he was one of Sauron’s lieutenants. Back to the time that he had power and everyone trembled at his passing; when he decided who lived and who died; when his sword got soaked in the blood of his enemies, no matter how much they pleaded for his non-existent mercy; when his captives screamed under the tortures he inflicted on them.

His cold soul warmed a little at the memory of such glory now long gone, only to freeze again when he remembered his state now. After the defeat of his lord, there was nothing for him to do but wander aimlessly in Middle-earth, not wishing to abandon the land that would have been his by Sauron’s promise had the East been victorious. He realised now that, when he had decided to join the Orcs he had also strayed from his own plans to try and dominate at least part of this world, to call it his own and rule it. And ever since he had left the band of the useless creatures, he had ventured to carry on with his own purpose. From all his wanderings, he had come to decide that this place seemed the ideal one, for it was the closest realm to the East and it was far enough from any other realms of the West.

And thus it was that Ulfast came here under the false pretext of defecting, hoping that he could influence the lord of the fortress through his fair talk, until he had made him his puppet and so usurp his rule. But now – now things had to be adapted. There were the prince’s wife and the captain to be dealt with, since they showed their unwillingness to accept him within the fortress. They could prove indeed a hindrance to his plans, especially if these two had decided to keep an eye on him, which he was certain that they would. Furthermore, he noticed that these two were the ones that Faramir kept closest to his heart: that was obvious from the way he looked at them when he asked for their counsel as well. And if so much as these two hinted that Ulfast wasn’t trustworthy, Faramir would certainly listen to them.

So Ulfast understood that he would have to play a much more difficult game, though not an impossible one yet, if he was to ensnare Faramir. For if the prince could be cut off from his wife and friend, then there would be no more problems. And Ulfast already knew exactly how he would do that: he had learned long ago that there was no one in this world without a weakness. He would find the weaknesses of these three, and, as soon as he did, he would use them to his advantage. It was true that this would probably take some time; but he didn’t care at all, for patience always proved his best ally. He would wait, until he could strike hard where it hurt the most.

Chuckling in satisfaction for his flawless scheming, Ulfast closed his eyes, finally deciding to sleep. The next day, like the ones to follow, would be very busy for him and he needed all the rest he could get.

TBC...


	7. The Web Is Woven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to [Brothers in Arms](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592). Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.

It took less than a month for Ulfast to learn everything he wanted to know about the place and its inhabitants. The servants, and the people in town mostly, were willing to give him – unawares or no – any kind of information he wished. So he found out much about his three subjects of interest, namely Faramir, Éowyn and Beregond. And according to that information, he had planned much too; for he knew that the best of friendships and the greatest of loves could easily crumble once _other_ feelings sunk in as well. The lord of the fortress would easily fall into the trap that Ulfast had in mind for him, the things that he had heard about would make certain of that, before the meddling captain that kept watching him would be able to do anything about it.

On a seemingly quiet Sunday morning, Beregond had just finished inspecting the men, as he did every Sunday; and while he was walking by the arch, he heard a strange noise above him as though something breaking. When he looked up, he saw a large boulder had detached itself from the main wall and was now falling towards him. Before he had time to react and avoid his death, Beregond felt a pair of arms grabbing him and pushing him safely out of harm's way. The captain remained lying for a few moments, trying to comprehend what had just passed, and then he turned to thank the person that saved him. His gratitude, however, changed immediately to dismay and disgust, because the man who had pushed him away turned out to be no other than Ulfast.

"Are you alright?" asked the Black Númenórean in a concerned tone.

"Yes, thank you, you can take your hands off me now," said the captain quickly, hardly hiding his distaste as he shoved Ulfast's gloved hands away.

"I was only trying to help," said the Numenorean in a hurt manner.

"Of course you were!" retorted Beregond, sarcasm in his every word, and added in his mind: _Liar!_

At that moment, more people gathered round and Bergil rushed to his father's side.

"Are you hurt?" he asked worriedly.

"No, my boy, don't fear," Beregond assured him. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring with purpose the hand that Ulfast had stretched out for him.

Finally, Lady Éowyn arrived along with Faramir, seeing the commotion in the yard.

"What happened?" asked the prince, his eyes on Beregond.

"A boulder fell. Don't worry, I am all right," he answered.

"Ulfast saved him, my lord!" cried out one of the soldiers, earning a very angry look from his captain. But Faramir, not noticing that, just said his thanks to the Black Númenórean. As for the fair woman, one could discern a look of suspicion in her eyes as she looked at Ulfast. However, she quickly turned to the guard.

"Beregond, you should go clean up. The dirt from the ground is still clinging on you."

The captain checked himself, flushing slightly with embarrassment and disappointment: he had only polished his armour the previous day!

"I fear you are right, milady. I will be upstairs in my quarters if I am needed," he replied with dignity. He was about to walk away when Éowyn stopped him.

"I will come with you," she said, "It is on my way to my own quarters."

Beregond nodded, and then both started walking towards the inner halls. As soon as they were out of anyone's hearing range, the lady leaned toward the man and whispered near his ear.

"What do you think that could mean?"

"I don't know, milady," answered the guard, "but two things are certain: Ulfast's presence nearby could hardly be a coincidence and the fortress has been built by hands too well experienced to start crumbling after five years!"

"Indeed. But how come he saved you? Having you get killed would seem a more logical course to me."

"That is what worries me. It means that he has something else in store for me, a fate apparently worse than death and more pleasing to him."

Lady Éowyn shuddered involuntarily and she grasped the man's arm, making him face her. 

"If he tries anything with Faramir, I swear…"

However Beregond shushed her immediately.

"He will not," he assured her, looking straight into her eyes and clasping his hand on her shoulder. "That is why I always watch him, to make sure of that. Unfortunately, the fiend has not done anything wrong yet, so we must wait till he makes a mistake that reveals his true intentions."

"I do not think I can wait for much longer. The sooner he leaves the better."

"I know what you mean, my lady," answered Beregond; and with no other word they walked up the stairs.

\-------------------------

"I am glad I was nearby when that boulder fell," said Ulfast to Faramir, who was still standing next to him. 

"That makes two of us," he said, relieved that Beregond wasn't hurt.

"I wish the captain was just as glad, though…" 

"Do not concern yourself with him. I am certain he was only shaken by what happened," the prince assured the – seemingly – upset Black Númenórean.

"But this has been happening ever since I came here! I try my best and it's still not good enough for him! I have seen the looks he casts at me! To him I am nothing but an enemy!"

Faramir looked at Ulfast in wonder for many moments.

"I am sorry," he finally said. "The captain had promised me that he would not do that, but it seems that I will have to talk to him again." 

"Thank you, my lord," replied Ulfast with gratitude, "and I am sorry. I am aware that he is your friend and I hate to put you in this difficult position."

"Still, some things have to be said, even between friends." 

"I hope Lady Éowyn will understand that, sire."

"Lady Éowyn? What for?"

"Well, it is obvious that she cares for him as much as you do, my lord. The way she got concerned about the state of captain Beregond's armour, even though it got only dusty, shows just that beyond any doubt. She even volunteered to go with him upstairs, making sure, as it would seem, that he was indeed all right."

Faramir looked at Ulfast greatly puzzled, for indeed, now that Ulfast mentioned it, Éowyn did seem rather too interested in Beregond's welfare. And why did she wish to go with the captain upstairs all of a sudden, when a few minutes before the boulder incident occurred, she was more than willing to accompany him for ride in the nearby woods?

_It must have been her motherly side talking already, even before our child is born yet. She certainly treated Beregond like one_ , he finally convinced himself; and then returned a calm smile to Ulfast.

"She will understand, I am sure of it."

"Then there will be no problem," answered Ulfast, displaying one of his – fake – smiles.

\-----------------------

Later at night, Beregond was lying on his bed, thinking about the events of the day, when he heard a knock at the door. Upon opening it, he was surprised to see Faramir.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" the prince asked politely.

"Of course," replied the captain, beckoning his friend to enter. "What is it?"

"It is about what happened this morning… and Ulfast."

Beregond's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly at the mention of the name. "What about him?" he asked dryly.

"He _did_ help you out, you know," remarked Faramir.

"I did not ask for his help," was Beregond's sullen answer. 

"Exactly, my friend. And yet you treated him unfairly."

"Because of what he is."

"Maybe, but you had promised that you would accept him anyway," said the prince.

"No, Faramir. I said I will watch over him and give him the benefit of the doubt should he prove himself," Beregond reminded him.

"And he saved you."

"That, I am sorry to say, was not good enough."

Faramir regarded Beregond in surprise at such words. Was it really his friend that talked so harshly? It was true that in some things the captain could prove absolute, but Faramir felt that, in this case, it reached to the point of irrationality. 

"What would you have him do then?" he asked Beregond at a loss.

Beregond bowed his head, sighing. He didn't have an answer for that very good question.

"I don't know," he answered with resignation. "I simply cannot trust him, Faramir. I am sorry to disappoint you, but this is how I feel. I am not asking you to approve of it, but I hope that at least you will be able to understand."

Faramir lifted his friend's chin gently with his hand. To the captain's surprise, he was smiling slightly.

"You have been a soldier for too many years and you still want to defend yourself against whatever threat you feel is closing in upon you. But I know your heart is in the right place," said the prince kindly. "Nevertheless, can you at least try not to be so blatantly rude to Ulfast next time? Like it or not, he is my responsibility ever since he asked for shelter here and it is my business to see that he feels comfortable here."

Beregond nodded in acknowledgment, for he saw Faramir's point in this whole matter and he didn't want to disobey his wish.

"I will try… for your sake," he said, smiling a bit.

"Thank you," replied the prince; and with that, he turned to the door. Before he walked out however, he faced his friend again.

"By the way, there is something else…"

"Oh?" asked the captain, intrigued.

"What did Éowyn want with you? When you went to clean yourself up, I mean. I know walking up to her room was just a pretext."

Beregond remained silent for a few moments, clearly startled by that kind of question.

"Nothing all that important," he answered in the end. "She was simply worried about what had passed."

"I see," murmured Faramir softly; and, after smiling again, he said his goodnight to Beregond, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

The captain berated himself for what he just did. This was the first time that he had ever avoided opening his heart to Faramir and it pained him to do that. It was true that he didn't really lie to him. But, then again, he didn't actually tell him the truth either. 

_Fine mess you made out of things_ , murmured Beregond to himself, _I am sure Maldir would like to see you now_. If there was anything his late mentor hated, it was lies.

And yet what choice was there? His friend had showed with his words that he had started trusting Ulfast and Beregond didn't want to hurt Faramir's feelings by revealing to him just how much _he_ didn't trust the Numenorean. Now the man only hoped that nothing bad would come out of that action of his.

However, unbeknownst to Beregond, something bad had _already_ started working its way into Faramir's mind. For one thing, when the prince had talked to several guards about the event of the morning, some had told him that they had seen the captain and Lady Éowyn talking in the most nervous of manners. What was it that these two felt they should be talking between themselves and not with him? Could it possibly be something that they didn't trust him to know? And if that was the case, why? What was with them keeping secrets from him? First Éowyn, hiding her pregnancy, and now this! And Beregond, of all people!

Feeling his heart sinking in disappointment, he headed for his own quarters, without noticing that he was being watched out of the dark corners of the corridor. Ulfast had eavesdropped on the conversation that had passed just now between the two friends, and he couldn't be more pleased with himself about what happened. His plan was working very well indeed.

\-----------------------

Early at dawn, one of the soldiers rushed to the royal couple's bedchambers and knocked on the door urgently.

"Lord Faramir, you should come at once," he said when Faramir opened the door.

"What happened?" asked the prince puzzled, still half dazed from waking up abruptly.

"There has been an attack in one of the soldiers' quarters."

At these words, Faramir's eyes widened in shock.

"I will join you at once," he said quickly and then hurried to get dressed.

\----------------------------

Meanwhile, Beregond was going with Bergil to attend to their own duties, talking without care in the world, when they heard a great commotion of people rushing hither and thither.

"What is going on?" the captain asked a servant who was happening to pass by.

"One of the soldiers was attacked savagely last night – in his own room no less!" answered the servant restlessly.

Without even saying thank you, Beregond dragged Bergil along and they ran to find out which soldier had gotten hurt. As they approached the room, Beregond clearly heard Faramir's voice commanding everyone to go back to their posts. The guard entered – and he was quite surprised to see who the injured man was.

Faramir was standing next to the healer, who was tending a beaten up Ulfast, black and blue bruises marking the Númenórean's face; and Beregond could see some dried blood still clinging to the wounded man's mouth. Before he was able to say anything, however, Faramir had grabbed him and was pushing him aside.

"We need to talk," he said, his eyes flashing with anger. He closed the door violently behind them and pinned Beregond to the wall.

"I thought we had agreed on something," he hissed.

The captain's jaw almost dropped in amazement.

"You think _I_ did this to him?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"I do not see who else could have done it!"

"Faramir…" said Beregond, trying to calm down his friend, "I never denied the fact that I don't like him, but you of all people should know that I would never attack anybody in such a cowardly way!"

"And yet, there is now a healer taking care of him! How do you explain that?" asked Faramir furiously.

"My lord, if I may?" said a voice, cutting in. 

It was Bergil, who had heard the argument and came out of the room also to see what was happening.

"What?" snapped the prince, turning to him.

"My father could not have possibly done what he is accused of, for the very simple reason that he was with me all night: from the time my training had finished till now that we were both going back to our own business," replied the trainee bravely.

Such was Faramir's surprise at this that his grip on Beregond loosened a bit. He never noticed Beregond looking at his son, shocked.

"If that is true, how come I did not see you when I visited your father?" the prince asked Bergil, raising slightly his eyebrow.

"I was sitting in the inner room, my lord. I did not come out, because I wished to give you and my father some privacy."

Faramir remained still, taking in what was said to him and breathing heavily.

"Very well," he said in the end, letting go of the captain. He had started walking away, when Beregond caught up with him.

"Please, wait," he pleaded.

"This conversation is at an end," answered Faramir, still walking and without looking at him.

"Not before I understand something!"

Even though Beregond earned a very angry glare from the prince, he wasn't daunted in the least.

"What were you thinking back there?" he asked in exasperation and confusion.

"Excuse me?" exclaimed Faramir, surprised at such words.

"I think you know what I am talking about: doubting my integrity like that. There was a time not long ago that you wouldn't even consider such a thing!"

"And there was a time not long ago that you would obey your lord's command, not do and say as you please: I said the conversation is at an end, and I expect you to comply!" said Faramir in such a tone that it startled the captain. However, Beregond wasn't planning on letting go of the matter so easily.

"I am still your friend too; and I wish for an explanation."

Faramir actually snorted at such a statement.

"You certainly have some strange way of remembering _that_ when it suits you the best," he noted sarcastically.

"What are you saying?" faltered Beregond, confused.

"Do I really have to remind you of the time that you followed me outside the city in search of an army in time of war, despite the laws? Or when you went with me like an oh-so faithful little puppy around town at night whenever I ventured out in the streets of Minas Tirith, even though my father refused us permission to see each other? Or should I remind you of my father himself?" 

Beregond listened to one dreadful word uttered after another, each feeling like a slap in his face, while his mind was racing with numerous thoughts piling one on top of the other. How could Faramir say that? Traitors break rules to gain something for themselves, and Beregond only acted out of friendship and support. And yet, he sadly had to admit to himself that the prince was right. He wished to claim that he had been just as faithful to Lord Denethor as he was to Faramir, but he knew he wasn't. Bending rules was just a handsome way of excusing his lack of loyalty to his friend's father. Feeling himself in a daze after such a realisation, he opened his mouth to speak, trying to… explain? Apologise? Beregond didn't really know. He simply wanted to say anything, so that his friend wasn't angry with him anymore, for this was tearing his whole soul apart. 

But Faramir raised his hand and didn't let him talk.

"Dismissed, captain," he said, his words of ice piercing Beregond's heart through; and he left, without looking back to see his friend's hands hiding his sorrow-stricken face. 

"Father?"

However Beregond didn't heed the voice, such was his sadness. And so Bergil grasped his father's arm and started leading him back to his room. Only then did the guard turn to look upon his dear son's face.

"You should never have done that," he said in a soft tone, as they still walked. For indeed, Bergil had spent his night in the trainees' dormitories, just like he did every night, and he had only seen his father in the morning in the hallway.

"I could not listen to him accusing you for something I know you did not do," answered Bergil, shaking his head. 

"He is still your lord, son. Lying to him…"

"He is not _officially_ my lord, father! I don't owe him any allegiance for I have not sworn the soldier's oath yet. And even if I had, I would doubt any lord that dared to question you in such a way!"

"Don't say that _ever_ again!" exclaimed Beregond, horrified.

"You defend him after what he did?!" said the lad in wonder.

"Of course!" said the man. "Faith and loyalty are the two most important things for a soldier to successfully serve his lord. Always remember, my boy, that the lord has the first and the last word in every matter, and the soldiers must accept it; for if everyone did as he saw fit, then there would be chaos and disorder which would lead a fair city to its ruin much faster than an unfit ruler. Do you understand? _I_ was the one out of line – not him."

"You forgot to say that you are not a mere soldier, but the First Captain and his best friend."

"All the more reason for me to respect his opinion. As a Captain I cannot offer my advice, since we are not in war; and as a friend, I should have accepted his wish to drop the subject." 

Bergil still listened in wonder at what his father said. 

"And to think Lord Faramir doubted you," he said in the end. "If he only heard you now…" 

Beregond smiled and placed his arm over his son's shoulders.

"He knows of these things, Bergil, he just forgot them in his anger. Don't worry, he will remember them soon enough," he said, refraining himself from saying that he was certain Ulfast was to blame for such a thing too. He had figured that the Black Numenorean injured himself to ignite such a fight between him and Faramir. 

"I hope you are right," said the lad. And they continued walking the corridor in silence.

\------------------------

Éowyn was sitting in her room, reading a book, when the sound of the door as it opened made her look up. She was horrified to see a very pale Faramir standing by the doorframe.

"What is wrong?" she asked, rushing towards him.

"I had a fight with Beregond," answered the man, shaken. "I-I do not know what came over me. I just… could not…"

The noble woman sighed and made her husband sit down.

"Tell me all about it," she encouraged him; and Faramir told her everything, while she listened carefully. However, her full-of-understanding eyes never betrayed once her thoughts that Ulfast himself had more to answer for than her husband believed.

"You will have to talk to Beregond, you know. You treated him far worse than he ever deserved," she said in the end.

"I know. I will go find him shortly. Meanwhile, I had better go see how Ulfast is faring."

"You would rather see him first than your childhood friend?" asked Éowyn, raising an eyebrow.

"Beregond is not the one beaten up, but Ulfast is. I think I should see our guest first."

"As you wish then…" said the woman with a slight dismay in her voice.

"Do not worry, I will talk to Beregond too," Faramir assured her; and with that, he walked out.

\-----------------------

Ulfast, in the meantime, had kept himself busy. Feigning sleep, he waited for the healer to leave his quarters, only to jump out of his bed soon afterwards and rush to his study. He winced a bit at such a violent action, but the discord that his self-inflicted injuries had caused made up for any kind of pain he felt. He grabbed some pieces of parchment and scribbled on one with as much care as his hastiness permitted him. After several failed attempts, he folded the last written paper in two and, making sure no one saw him, or came across him by accident, he slipped stealthily towards Beregond's room and quickly pushed the paper into the room through the slit underneath the door. Before anyone had realised he was gone, Ulfast managed to get back to his own room and lay down to his bed once more. Having understood how Faramir thought, Ulfast knew that he would come visit him again soon. And if Beregond also found the note, then his plan would only be one step away from success. Closing his eyes, he waited, his wicked soul smiling inwardly.

It wasn't long before Faramir showed up. As soon as the door opened, Ulfast opened his eyes, feigning weariness.

"I am glad you have come, my lord," he said in a soft murmur, trying to rise in, what would seem, respect.

"Save your strength," replied Faramir. "Just tell me if you are feeling any better."

"A bit," was Ulfast's weak answer. "The man who attacked certainly had plenty of strength."

"Don't worry about that, my men are looking for the culprit already," Faramir assured him. "By the way, did you get a good look at the person who attacked you?"

"Alas, no," sighed Ulfast. "It was too dark and he surprised me."

"Well, for all that it is worth, it was not Captain Beregond, though you are not in the best of terms."

"I never said it could be him, even though it would not surprise me if it was either," said the Númenórean, his inward smile only growing. "He had an alibi then?"

"Yes, he was with his son all night long. The boy himself told me."

"Ah, the young… always ready to help out. They love their parents so dearly."

The way that Ulfast said this alarmed Faramir greatly.

"Are you suggesting the lad is lying?"

"Could he not?" replied the Numenorean, his poisoning words becoming far bolder. "If he took anything after his father it must be his secret ways." 

"What are you saying?" asked the prince, so startled that he didn't stop to wonder how Ulfast's tone of voice changed.

" _I_ have also seen the captain talking with your wife privately, not only the other soldiers" continued the wicked man. "If he is such a good friend of yours, why does he go to _her_ to seek advice and counsel? And if you and your wife have such a loving and trusting relationship, why does she not tell you of her troubles? Surely, as her husband, you have far more rights to know of these than your friend. I would be more careful if I were you, my lord. It is almost certain that if they hide their concerns from you and share it between themselves, they are bound to share other things too…"

Faramir let these words sunk in, and his eyes opened wide in horrifying realisation. No! Ulfast couldn't be possibly implying that Beregond and Éowyn...? 

Ulfast however pierced Faramir's mind and cut into his train of thought.

"If you are certain there is nothing for you to worry about, then go talk to your wife and ask for explanations."

Without saying a word, Faramir quickly left the room and then hurried to find Éowyn. 

\----------------------

After parting from Bergil, Beregond passed by his room on his way to the barracks, and found the very note that Ulfast had placed there: a note supposedly written by Éowyn's hand, and asking the guard to come into her chambers at once. Not suspecting any foul play, the guard went to meet the fair woman at once. He knocked at the door politely and, as soon as he heard his lady's permission to enter, he walked inside.

"Beregond?" asked the woman in wonder. "What are you doing here?"

"I got your note, milady," said the captain, perplexed at the woman's surprised tone. "You said that you wished to see me in your chambers as soon as possible."

It was when Éowyn's eyes opened wide in confusion that it dawned on him.

"You did not write this?" he asked, showing the note to the fair woman. 

"No," she said, handing back the paper to the guard. "That is not even my own handwriting!"

Beregond clenched his hand into a fist, while his eyes flashed with dismay.

"That must be Ulfast's doing then. It seems that the scoundrel takes pleasure in playing games with both of us," he said, disgusted. "I am sorry to disturb you, milady. I shall let you be at once."

He bowed in courtesy, but, before he had walked out, Éowyn stopped him.

"I need to talk to you," she said, her eyes begging him to stay.

"As you wish, milady," answered the captain, nodding his understanding. "I don't think I have to ask what it is you want to talk to me about."

"No," replied Éowyn, shaking her head. "Faramir told me what happened to Ulfast."

"Milady, I had nothing to do with that…" started the man, but the lady didn't let him continue.

"I know you did not. As I know that Ulfast himself is to blame for this."

Beregond would have actually sighed with relief, if another thought weren't troubling him.

"Unfortunately, Faramir doesn't seem to realise that. And I fear our 'guest' may have had something to do with that as well. Each day he obtains more of Faramir's trust…"

"While Faramir's trust in you fades," completed Éowyn. "Did you try to talk to my husband about it? He certainly seemed to regret fighting with you like that."

However Beregond shook his head in resignation.

"He might wish to apologise; but, frankly, I don't think he really wants to listen to what I have to say to him now and actually believe me. There is no proof against Ulfast but our mere speculation. No, milady, the note alone will not help us, because the fiend can easily deny that he ever wrote it. It is my word against his."

"If only there were here a mutual friend, one who could talk to Faramir…"

"Alas, no!" exclaimed Beregond sadly. "The ones Faramir would believe in would be his brother, Mithrandir, Maldir or… the King of Gondor." The mention of that name brought new hope to the captain and grabbed Éowyn's hand in a pleading manner. "Milady, send a letter to Lord Elessar!"

"You mean Aragorn?" asked the woman.

"Yes, him! Please, milady, tell him something is terribly amiss in the realm of Ithilien. If anyone can help us, it is he! Will you send tidings to him?"

"I will," Éowyn assured the guard.

It was in that moment that the door burst open and Faramir walked in.

Never before had Beregond seen his friend in such a state. His angry stare pierced everything that his eyes were laid upon, while his whole form trembled with suppressed rage. The captain arose and tried to talk to him, but Faramir proved faster.

"Neglecting your duties, I see," he growled. 

"I was called…" started Beregond apologetically.

"SILENCE!" boomed Faramir's voice through the entire room. "Go to your post at once!"

Beregond didn't attempt to say anything else, but walked out in silence. As for Éowyn, she rose from her chair and stood proudly before her husband, not daunted by her husband's wrath. 

"My lord, what is the meaning of this?" she asked, her eyes looking steadfastly at Faramir's.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," said the man, trying to control himself. "What was _he_ doing here?" 

" _Beregond_ was just talking to me," said Éowyn, raising her eyebrow. 

"In your room? Why?"

"He was trying to sort out a misunderstanding; and if you are going to ask me next if the misunderstanding has been sorted out, I can save you the trouble and tell you that it has. Although now it seems that I have to deal with another one!" replied the lady proudly. "What have I done to be treated in such a discourteous manner? Or even Beregond?"

"You tell me," said Faramir with edge. "Have you two done anything to be treated like this?"

"My lord, that is something you should be asking yourself."

"When I find my best friend seeing my wife in secret, then I do not have to ask myself anything!" 

This time it was Éowyn's turn to grow angry and, seeming taller and mightier in her wrath, she faced Faramir with all the rage of the injustice being done to her.

"I cannot believe I am actually listening to this! Do you even _understand_ what you are saying? You accuse Beregond of betraying your trust when, if he could, he would suffer a thousand deaths and more to protect you from whatever harm! Even _I_ came to realise that, even though I have not known him as long as _you_ claim to do! And, what is worse, you just proved to me how little you trust _me_ , your own wife, despite the fact that I gave up the life I knew so I could be with you for the very simple reason that I love you! Do you consider me such a dishonourable coward that I would forget that kind of sacrifice and the reason that it was done, just so I could be with another man? Do you?!"

Faramir certainly didn't expect that kind of attack, for his own anger had now subsided and he listened with bowed head and a flushed face to Éowyn's outburst. Such was his meekness at this that he didn't even dare speak when his wife asked for an answer. 

Éowyn sat heavily on her chair, the burden of her pregnancy causing her more difficulties than she wished for at this moment. Faramir tried to go to her, but she pushed him away.

"Leave me."

Faramir looked at her at a loss for a few moments, trying to understand what was she saying to him.

"I said leave me! I do not wish to hear you, I do not want to talk to you; I do not even want to look at you! Get out!" she shouted. 

The prince stood still, a new kind of anger burning inside him; until he finally exited, banging the door behind him. Only then did Éowyn indulge herself to weep; and such was her grief that she never wrote the letter to Aragorn. And so no help was ever destined to arrive to Ithilien.

\----------------------

As for Beregond, he had become so frustrated by all this that he had stormed out of the inner halls and had found himself in the yard; but he didn't stop there. Still striding rigidly, he crossed it and finally arrived in the stables where, after closing the stable doors behind him, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"I DID NOT DO ANYTHING WRONG!!!"

As every ounce of breath left him at that scream, he dropped on his knees, hot tears spilling down his face, and kept murmuring: "I did not…" And yet nobody was around to hear him, least of all Faramir, something that pained him the more.

He didn't know how long he remained like this before he had finally managed to drown the chocking feeling of being treated unjustly that had settled in his heart. But, unlike most men, Beregond didn't intend to feel despair and remain idle when things seemed the darkest; in such situations, he always obtained a fury-guided energy that made him face his troubles and even overcome them. And in this case, the very depths of his soul and every fibre of his body were stirred with hatred against the man that had caused his friendship with Faramir to crumble: Ulfast.

"He will not succeed," he promised to himself through gritting teeth. "I will make sure that fiend will not defile this fair realm with his presence anymore, even if it is the last thing I do!" 

He rose, knowing very well what he should do now. He would search the whole place to find any kind of evidence that proved Ulfast's foul plotting. However, to do that, he needed to circulate around the fortress without having to think of his duties for several days, so he would ask Damrod to relieve him. Moreover, he would have to ask Bergil to keep an eye on Ulfast and report to him about his every movement. And Lady Éowyn's help would be useful in that matter too. 

Determined, he went to find Damrod and set his own plan in motion, hoping that he would manage to get one step ahead of the Black Númenórean this time and defeat him in his own game. 

TBC...


	8. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to [Brothers in Arms](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592). Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.

Two days passed slowly and with bitterness since that fateful day that strife broke out between Faramir, Éowyn and Beregond. During that time, the servants had watched their lord growing more sorrowful and barely eating anything anymore, whereas Lady Éowyn had remained locked in her room and not wishing to talk to anyone. As for Captain Beregond, he was hardly ever seen, and some soldiers were actually getting concerned that something had happened to him. And yet, whenever they would ask Captain Damrod for any news of him, he would only answer vaguely that Beregond had other business to attend to and he couldn't take up his duties just yet, not much more than Beregond himself let him know anyway.

Indeed, Beregond had hardly been idle for the last couple of days. He had already told Bergil to watch over Ulfast while he tried to find whatever evidence he could lay his hands upon. He had already searched the rubble of the boulder that had almost fallen on him, now swept aside in a corner; it was there that he discovered some small metallic shards. Beregond hadn't been absolutely sure, but he had guessed they could belong to a weapon. All the same, he had figured he should also ask someone who could tell him for certain. 

That was where he was heading now, so early at dawn, since Bergil had warned him that Ulfast was, for the time being, in his room. Beregond didn't wish to come across the Black Númenórean and risk making him suspicious.

The blacksmith had already started work, just like Beregond had thought. The large man, however, was quite surprised to see the captain at his forgery at this time of day.

"'Morning, Captain Beregond. What can I do for you? Does your armour need any patching up?"

"No, not today, Faleth. This time I need your expert opinion on something."

"Of course, sir. What would you like to know?" asked Faleth, intrigued.

"What can you tell me about these?" asked Beregond, emptying on the table nearby the pouch in which he kept the shards.

The giant of a man picked two of the pieces in his thick hand and examined them closely.

"Well," he finally said smiling, "they are parts of a sword. Their cutting edge shows that clearly."

"Sword?" replied Beregond. "Not knife or arrow?" 

"The metal is too thick for the weapons you suggest," Faleth corrected him. Still keeping the two pieces in his hand, he went up to his anvil and let them drop on it.

"Moreover, the pieces aren't part of just any sword," he added, "but one of mine."

"You are sure of this?" asked Beregond in surprise at how quickly Faleth had reached to such a conclusion.

"The clang of the shards was unmistakable. That's how all the swords I make for your men sound because of the special alloy I use. Begging your pardon, Captain, but… where did you find the pieces?"

"On the ground, near the arch where that big boulder fell two days ago. They were among the rubble."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Faleth in wonder. "Could you wait for a moment, sir?"

The blacksmith went to the inner room, only to reappear soon afterwards carrying a sword. When he put it on the table, Beregond saw with surprise that its blade was chipped off in several places. Meanwhile, Faleth worked swiftly and added the broken pieces on the chipped sides of the sword. They matched perfectly.

"Do you know whose sword this is?" asked Beregond, hardly concealing his excitement.

"I certainly do. I gave that to the foreigner – Ulfast, right? – about a month ago. He came here the day before yesterday and asked me to repair it. I remember it well because he was the first one in a long time to ask of me that kind of work. I would have done that errand sooner, but…"

Beregond regarded the blacksmith, surprised that he had stopped the narrative.

"But what?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I just realised that I meant to speak with you about that matter the very same day, but it slipped my mind."

The captain smiled as he watched the burly man actually blush.

"Better late than never, as I always say," he said kindly. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Well, Captain," continued Faleth, encouraged by Beregond's calmness, "When I asked the foreigner how he managed to break such a strong sword in such a way, he just said that he accidentally dropped it on the ground while guarding on the walls, something that had me thinking. You see, sir, if the sword was dropped the way he claimed he did, then the blade wouldn't have gotten such extended damage on both sides. And the tip of the blade is slightly bent as well."

"Meaning that…?" started Beregond.

"That he certainly didn't just drop it."

The captain looked at the sword thoughtfully for a few moments, and then an idea occurred to on him.

"Do you have a spare sword which I can use, Faleth?"

"Of course, sir, you're in my forgery!" exclaimed the blacksmith and handed Beregond another sword that happened to be nearby. "Why do you want it, though?"

"I want to test a theory of mine. Can I go to the back yard?"

Faleth showed him the way, and Beregond then asked him to stay back. As soon as the blacksmith did that, Beregond smote the sword tip down on the ground with as much strength as he had. After several such strokes the captain had managed to make a rather long and somewhat deep trench in front of him. Satisfied, he stopped to catch his breath and wipe away the sweat that covered his face; then went back to Faleth, holding up the sword.

"The damage is almost identical," said the large man.

"Exactly," said Beregond. "Faleth, I want you to do me a most important favour. Keep both the swords somewhere safe and should Ulfast come, give him another one. I do not think he will understand – or mind – the difference."

"As you wish, Captain."

"Good. By the way… if need be, will you be able to tell Lord Faramir exactly what you told me about Ulfast's sword?"

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

"Thank you," said Beregond, smiling. He was about to leave when he remembered himself. "And Faleth?"

"Yes, sir?"

"If anyone asks, I was never here."

"My lips are sealed, sir."

Beregond's smile broadened and, saying again his thanks to the blacksmith, he left.

So far Beregond had managed to reconstruct in his mind's eye how Ulfast detached the great rock from the rest of the arch. Since the Black Númenórean had joined the rest of the soldiers, he had also taken up the same duties, which meant standing guard at night as well. Now Beregond knew that Ulfast had stood guard at that particular spot above the arch the night before the inspection, because he himself had placed him there. While on that duty, Ulfast had surely found the chance to smite the boulder with his sword and loosen it enough from its place before any of the other guards noticed him or heard him. As to how he had succeeded in breaking it off at the right moment even though he was underneath the arch, it was a case of taking advantage of the commotion that was happening during the hour of the inspection. Spears and all kinds of weapons were easily accessed, because they were always taken out from the weaponry to be polished on that day. After grabbing a long spear, he could easily use it to knock the boulder off while everyone was still too busy to watch him. Then it was just a matter of dropping the spear immediately and rushing to the captain's 'aid'.

Nevertheless, Beregond's search was far from over, because now more questions needed to be answered. It was clear now that Ulfast wasn't a defector; but was he under someone's service and went through all this plotting, or did he work alone? The latter option seemed more likely, because all the time he had lived in the fortress Ulfast didn't leave the place, nor did he seem to have any means to speak with any accomplice. But another, more important question, lingered in Beregond's mind: what was Ulfast's motive in all this? 

Beregond hoped that he would be able to find the clues to these answers in Ulfast's room. But in order to search the quarters undisturbed, he had to make sure that the Black Númenórean stayed out of them long enough. He had already come up with an idea that he knew would keep Ulfast distracted, whether he'd like it or not. 

But first, he had to see Lady Éowyn. He went up the stairs to the inner halls quickly, heading for her room, and knocked with hesitation, since he didn't know what kind of reaction he would trigger in the fair woman for disturbing her. 

"Who is it?" asked Éowyn from within, not opening the door.

The tone of her voice was so soft and yet so heartbreaking that the captain couldn't help but sigh sorrowfully.

"It is I, Captain Beregond, my lady. May I speak with you for a moment?"

"What about?" 

"I think I have found a solution to our problem."

Only then did the door unlock, so that Beregond pushed it slightly open and slowly entered inside. As soon as he had passed the door, the woman closed it forcefully and locked it again. The man regarded her at this action and he was saddened to see her tear-reddened eyes and her pale face. 

"Yes, I have not slept much for the past two days," she answered to his look. "But let us not talk about this now. You said that you know how to deal with Ulfast?"

"Indeed I said that, my lady. I have found evidence that points to him as the culprit for the 'accident'. However I need to go into his room and search it in case I can come up with another proof just as solid. That is why I came here."

"You want my master key," said Éowyn, understanding. 

"Yes, my lady," answered the captain, nodding. "I know that Faramir had one and gave you an extra so you can both have access to all the rooms. He told me some time ago."

Éowyn smiled bitterly.

"When he still trusted you?"

Beregond bowed his head sadly, thus unconsciously giving his answer to the fair woman.

"I am aware that I ask you to give me something that was entrusted to you for safe keeping; yet, believe me, my lady, I would not have done that unless I knew it was absolutely necessary."

Éowyn never answered, but she went instead to her study, where a small box lay. She opened it to take something out from there and then turned to Beregond. Taking his hand, she placed in it a large metal key.

"Go now with my blessing. I dearly hope you will find the answers you are looking for."

"Thank you, my lady," replied Beregond, touched by her strength. Bowing with utmost respect, he unlocked the door and went to find Damrod. 

It didn't take him long, for the second captain was at the training facility, observing the young trainees at work. Beregond confided in him his wish for all the soldiers to go for drills, something to which Damrod agreed on at once and, after saluting the first captain, he went to announce the order to the soldiers. Beregond smiled to himself, satisfied with how things worked out for the time being. Now that he had ensured that Ulfast would be away, he would be able to enter the room and search it at his leisure.

\--------------------

Everything went according to plan. As soon as Ulfast left with the rest of the soldiers on drills, Beregond used Éowyn's master key to enter into the Black Númenórean's room. 

But, no matter how hard he looked, there was nothing that could help the guard in his investigation. He saw on a chair the clothes in which Ulfast had arrived at the fortress and, upon examining them thoroughly, he deduced that at least part of Ulfast's story was true. He had indeed wandered far and wide in the wild for a very long time, for they were quite weather-beaten and even torn in places.

Leaving the clothes on the chair once more, Beregond headed for the study. He was surprised to find the place upset and papers scattered on and by the desk; and was that the smell of something burning that was in the air? He looked everywhere, and he finally found in a basket what Ulfast had been up to. 

"Well, well," he murmured. "What were you trying to dispose of?"

Most of the papers in the basket were already consumed by the fire that Ulfast had set on them, nevertheless some pieces were still intact. Beregond carefully picked up one such piece and looked at it closely. It was one of the papers that Ulfast had first used as he was compiling the false note to place inside Beregond's room – the handwriting was the same beyond any doubt. Beregond picked up two more such papers and, after placing them inside his tunic, where he still held the forged letter, he sat on a chair and waited. The last rays of the sun had disappeared only a few moments ago, so he knew that it wouldn't be long before Ulfast came back from the drills.

\-----------------------

The first stars had lit when the soldiers returned to the fortress, and they all wished to return to their dormitories, for they felt exhausted. All except one that is, because Ulfast wished to do one last thing before retiring to his own chambers.

Faramir was sitting on his chair in the Great Hall when the Númenórean found him. The prince's sorrowful expression was most pleasing to the wicked man's soul; but his face hardly revealed anything like that as he approached Faramir.

"Greetings, my lord. Is something wrong?"

Faramir didn't bother to answer. He wished to be left alone with his thoughts, not engage himself in meaningless conversation. Ulfast, however, wasn't willing to give up on him so easily.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, feigning sudden realisation. "I understand. It is not easy to deal with such betrayal, especially from someone so close as your wife and friend."

"Since you understand that, you can let me be," said Faramir, sighing.

"On the contrary, my lord," replied Ulfast in a seemingly caring tone. "At times like these, one needs the company of somebody whom he trusts. Do you not want to talk about the injustice that was done to you?"

"What more is there to talk about? Everything I knew and loved has come to naught!" exclaimed the prince, exasperated. "How did it come down to this?"

"How indeed?" said Ulfast darkly. "Who can tell when it first started or for _how long_ this thing has been happening? The false words of love and friendship, caressing your ears and deafening you from the truth, while the betrayal recurred time and again behind your back; they were probably even laughing at your ignorance, despite the fact that you were prepared to give your own life for them! Who knows, if they were together long enough, they may even have more reason to laugh at you!"

"What?!" exclaimed Faramir dumbfounded, trying to understand what was the Númenórean saying. His mind drifted to Éowyn; and at that very moment the thought struck him. 

"No… not the child… it cannot be…" he murmured with difficulty past the lump that had formed in his throat. He hid his face in his hands, this realisation proving too much for him.

"Why not?" insisted Ulfast mercilessly. "Tell me one good reason it cannot be so! Everything else you believed in has proved false!" 

Faramir now was starting to tremble violently, unable control himself much longer.

"Get out."

Ulfast locked his gaze on Faramir's form. "My lord…"

"I SAID GET OUT!!!" shouted the prince at the top of his lungs, his voice breaking. He kept glaring at Ulfast until finally the Black Númenórean left, shutting the door behind him. 

Only then did Faramir indulge himself and wept bitterly. 

Ulfast stood by the door and heard the sobs, a slight sneer appearing on his lips as his plan was finally fulfilled. It seemed that he could actually taste its success, for it was only a matter of time before the prince ordered for Beregond and Éowyn to be ousted from the fortress and the realm of Ithilien. Then he, still manipulating Faramir, would gain the power he had lusted for all this time. Feeling utterly pleased, he headed for his room, wishing to get some rest after such a gratifying day.

However, when he reached the door of his room and took out his key to unlock it, he was more than surprised to see that it wasn't locked. Grabbing a light from the corridor and entering quickly, he found himself facing a still sitting Beregond.

"You certainly took your time to come," said the captain dryly as he arose, his eyes looking hard at the Númenórean's. 

Ulfast wasn't daunted at all at the man's deadly gaze. He simply grinned. 

"And you surely make this easier for me," he replied. "I am sure the prince will be more than happy to drag you away from my chambers once I start calling for help."

"Pray, cry out," was Beregond's sarcastic answer, "I will be more than happy to show _these_ to anyone who comes here." With a swift movement he took out from his tunic the incriminating papers. "You should not start any fires near a window, they are bound to die out before they actually burn anything."

If Ulfast was dismayed by Beregond's discovery, he certainly didn't show it, for his grin never left his face.

"I can always say that you planted these in my room to save your neck!" 

" _I_ can always compare these with any other random notes that you have written in the past. But I am far from finished: I know you used your sword to break the boulder off the main wall and so 'save' me; and I even have a witness to prove it! And even if all these are not enough to prove your guilt, they are still enough to question your credibility to my lord's eyes! Face it, Ulfast, there is no way out of this!" 

Ulfast actually laughed.

"And what of it? What do you think you will gain after you show your proof? Do you really think that that fool, whom you call your lord, will actually believe you? Frankly, I do not think he is in the condition to listen to whatever you have to say ever again! Oh, do not worry; I did not hurt him, although I fear that the blighter thinks now that you are a traitor beyond any doubt. The last I saw of him he was weeping like a baby in the Great Hall. And you know what follows after such a heartbreak, do you not? Who knows, the noble prince probably will not bother to go through the judicial system of his fair realm and he will kill you personally."

The sudden flame of rage that was ignited inside Beregond's heart was so overwhelming that, before realising it, he had let out a terrible curse and jumped for Ulfast's throat. Such was his force that he threw Ulfast on the floor, knocking into every piece of furniture that stood nearby. Both still locked in fierce combat when Beregond finally got the upper hand and pinned Ulfast down and, though the Númenórean struggled to break himself free, the captain grabbed his hands, holding him fast. It was at that moment of wrestling that one of Ulfast's gloves slipped away from its place.

Beregond froze dumbfounded, looking upon the tattoo of a red eye in the back of Ulfast's fist. 

"You!" he exclaimed angrily, finally realising who was, in fact, in front of him. Of course it could only be the dark-clad man who had held him captive only a few months ago in that forest! The voice, the sarcastic tone, the air of contempt, the tainted feeling that gnawed Beregond's heart; all started falling into place in the Gondorian's mind.

That minute of distraction nearly cost Beregond, for Ulfast took advantage of his surprise and grabbed him with both hands by his throat. But, before Ulfast managed a deadly grip, the captain had punched him in the face and rendered him unconscious. 

It was then that Beregond heard hasty steps and talking some distance from the room. Guessing that it could be the guards that heard the commotion, he thought at first to wait for them and order them to take Ulfast away. But then it dawned on him that he had just attacked the Black Númenórean, when the latter was supposedly attacked only recently! If anything, _this_ would only show further guilt before Beregond had even proved his innocence. So it was that, even though it was against his nature, Beregond quickly got out of the room and fled, before the guards saw him. 

Soon enough, Beregond had found himself in his room. As soon as he had locked the door as well, he rested his back against it, breathing heavily and trying to calm himself. Now the riddle that Ulfast had been all this time was finally solved. Beregond couldn't understand how the fiend came to be here, yet it didn't matter anymore. Whether by chance or by purpose, Beregond was certain that he hadn't come to redeem himself and even his tale was false: another thing that proved that Faramir not only shouldn't trust the Black Númenórean, but should also make sure that he wouldn't be welcomed in any other realm of Middle-earth. 

However, Beregond also realised that the most difficult part lay still ahead of him. He could try to find Faramir and tell him of all he knew, but would his friend listen to him? Ulfast's words still rang in the noble captain's memory: ' _he thinks now that you are a traitor beyond any doubt… he will kill you personally_ '.

A sudden knock at his door made him almost jump with surprise and fright.

"Beregond, open up!"

The captain recognised that voice only too well, yet he didn’t open. He only faced the door shaken, trying to force his mind to figure out what to do next.

“Beregond, I said: open up!” cried Faramir again, even more sternly this time.

  


TBC...


	9. I Am Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to [Brothers in Arms](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592). Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.

    Still waiting restlessly outside Beregond's room, the prince banged on the door forcefully once more. What was Beregond trying to do? Stay silent, pretending that he wasn't in there? Faramir knew the captain could only be in his room, for he had searched every other place in the fortress. He waited a few more moments and then banged on the door again.

    "Beregond, I swear, if you do not open _this_ instant..."

    Just then the door got unlocked, and Faramir pushed himself inside. 

    Despite the prince's speed, Beregond had already protected his back against the wall and stood there looking at his friend through frightened eyes. Indeed, Beregond didn't even have the time to fight back or shield himself when the prince's fist hit full force on his face; he was helpless when he felt Faramir grabbing him by his shoulders, shaking him violently.

    "How could you do this, curse you?" Faramir shouted at the top of his lungs. "I trusted you with my life all these years only for you to repay me like this?" 

    "Like what?" asked Beregond, half-dazed.

    "Are you mocking me?" growled Faramir.

    "No. Tell me like what."

    "Keeping secrets from me! Stealing Éowyn! Fathering the child that is in her womb!"

    "Who has told you I kept secrets from you?" asked Beregond again, feeling his courage returning.

    "Ulfast!" shouted Faramir, the calmness in the captain's voice irritating him beyond words.

    "And who has told you that Éowyn and I are lovers?"

    "Ulfast," said the prince again. Where was Beregond getting with this?

    "And who has told you that the child is mine?"

    "Ulfast," he answered once more, the distraction making part of his anger flow away. 

    "My, my, that Ulfast fellow has certainly discovered many things," noted Beregond, with as much sarcasm as he could under the circumstances.

    "Just say whatever it is to say," asked the prince impatiently.

    "Where is his proof?"

    Such a question puzzled Faramir long enough for Beregond to continue.

    "Faramir, I know you are a just man. How do you reach a decision whenever two people ask for your advice on a legal matter? Don't you listen to both the men's side of the story? So far you have only listened to one: Ulfast's. Fair enough, I say. But you never heard mine."             

    "What more do you have to say in this matter?" asked Faramir bitterly. "I saw you and Éowyn together in her room."

    "And here is why," said Beregond, reaching for his tunic. That abrupt movement made Faramir nervous enough to reach for his sword and unsheathe it, pointing it at the captain's heart. 

    Yet, the prince was to discover that there was no need for such alarm. The only thing that the captain had dug out from his tunic was a handful of letters, which he passed slowly to him. 

    "The signed note I found in my room the day before yesterday; it got me into Lady Éowyn's room. The slightly burned ones were in Ulfast's room," explained Beregond, trying to compose himself and to stop trembling. The way his friend - could he even consider Faramir a friend anymore, really? - had threatened him with his sword was one of the most frightening things in his life. 

    Meanwhile, Faramir examined the notes closely and he quickly saw that, even though it seemed that one of the notes was signed by Éowyn, that wasn't her handwriting at all; but it matched with the other three notes. 

    Such was the noble man's amazement at this that he let go of the captain and kept looking at the papers in disbelief.

    "Are you ready to listen to what I have to say now?" asked Beregond hesitantly. 

    Faramir nodded; and the captain told him about everything that he and his son had found out, including the tattoo on Ulfast's hand. Faramir's eyes opened wide in shock, for Beregond had told about that mark when he had recounted his captivity.

    "So Ulfast and the cloaked man are the same?" Faramir asked in the end.

    "Yes."

    The prince let the words sink in and, feeling his head heavy by all these revelations, sat on a chair nearby.

    "He lied to me," he murmured.

    "He was lying to you constantly from the start," answered Beregond in the same tone. He regarded Faramir's face and his heart contracted to see such disappointment and remorse there. In other times, Beregond would have draped his arms over the prince's shoulders in comfort, but now he hesitated. It was true that he proved Ulfast's malicious intentions; but that didn't mean that Faramir's faith in him had been restored again. And so he still stood with his back against the wall, not moving an inch from there. 

    Faramir looked at the captain, discerning in Beregond's own face utter sadness and regret; and, in an instant, guilt gripped his heart tightly. How could he have wronged the man so? How could he let Ulfast play with his mind and make him turn against the one person whom he was honoured to call best of friends since childhood? And Éowyn? How could he possibly think that she would dishonour him in such a terrible way? 

    He closed his eyes, for he knew the answer to all those questions and yet it pained him to admit it. 

    He was afraid to be betrayed again. Already his father, a man in whom Faramir had absolute faith in spite of their misgivings, was ready to have him, his own son, the only one after Boromir's death, burnt alive. It was true that everyone, including himself, kept saying that it was in a moment of madness and that his father indeed loved him, but... _his own **father** wanted to burn him alive_.  That thought echoed constantly in his mind, and since that day, the same gnawing fear of betrayal lingered in his mind, though he never talked it with anyone - not even Beregond. 

    And now he let Ulfast take advantage of it. Could he have been more of a fool?

    He rose and approached Beregond, who only averted his eyes and turned his head away. That pained Faramir to no end, for he now realised how deeply he had wounded the captain's feelings the past few days. With some apprehension, he drew him close, and held him in a warm embrace.

    " _Goheno nín..._ "* he whispered, his voice hoarse and raw with emotion, begging his friend for forgiveness. 

    Beregond shifted at that and Faramir feared for a moment that the captain wished to pull himself away. But he quickly felt his comrade's arms returning the embrace.

    " _Ú_ _-moe edaved, gwador nín_ ,"** he heard him say softly. 

    The term had surprised Faramir - and honoured him - beyond words. He faced his friend again and saw that, even though Beregond's eyes had turned misty with tears, a broad smile brightened his whole countenance. 

    Indeed Beregond couldn't be gladder to see Faramir back to his old self, the one that he cared for and had sworn to protect even with his life if necessary. However, now was not the time to rejoice, for Ulfast still had to be dealt with. He stood at attention and faced Faramir.

    "Your orders, sir?" he asked with respect, although he couldn't force his smile away from his lips.

    Faramir smiled approvingly and clasped a hand on the faithful guard's shoulder.

    "Let us go find a traitor."

    "Aye, sir," said Beregond, hardly containing his excitement. But just when they were about to walk out the door, he slackened, something troubling his mind.

    "Faramir?"

    "What?" asked the prince, turning to the captain.

    "I am sorry too," he whispered.

    Faramir frowned at these words. 

    "What are you talking about?" 

    Beregond didn't answer. Faramir watched how his friend looked down, fumbling a bit with his shirt, an obvious sign that he felt guilty about something. What could it be though? The captain hadn't done anything wrong, to the best of Faramir's knowledge.

    "Well?"

    Beregond raised his head again, as though startled from a dream.

    "I will tell you later. Let us find Ulfast. I am afraid by now he could be anywhere."

    "Is Bergil still watching him?" asked Faramir.

    "Whenever he can."  

    "Then go find your son," said the prince decisively. "He might be able to tell you of his whereabouts. I will go find Éowyn and gather as many men as possible."

    Beregond nodded his acknowledgment and they both parted, each to his own task. 

\-----------

    Just as the captain had suspected, Ulfast wasn't in his room anymore. So now Beregond had to locate him swiftly before the wicked man would attempt any more harm on anybody else. The dormitories where Bergil spent his nights were close, so he hurried there, hoping to find his son. To his good fortune, he came across him as he was leaving to take up his task on watching Ulfast.

    "Father? What is the matter?"

    "The game is afoot, Bergil," said Beregond with urgency. "Faramir knows the truth, but Ulfast is missing."

    "Then let us find him!" exclaimed the lad. "Do you have any idea where he could be?"

    "Not really," admitted the captain. "Although, considering the place has proven too dangerous to stay here any longer, he might attempt to leave; and he will not allow anything or anyone stand on his path. Bergil, I don't think I have to tell you how dangerous he is. Are you armed?"

    "I have my bow." 

    "Good," said Beregond. "Have it ready at hand always. I am afraid we will have to separate to find him the swifter."

    "I am ready to do as you say."

    "Then let us make haste," said Beregond. He was starting to walk away when he turned, remembering himself: "And watch your back, my boy."

    "Always," grinned Bergil and headed in the opposite direction.

\--------------

    The captain quickly found himself in the yard, and he cursed slightly, because he still hadn't found any sign of Ulfast. He put his mind to work, trying to think of where could the fiend go. The Númenórean wouldn't leave from the main gate, that was for certain, since the guards there would stop him; so he had to leave through another way. But what would that be? 

    It was then that he remembered that the Dwarves had made a passage from which the people of the fortress could flee and escape to the plains in case of danger. That causeway was no secret among the soldiers, so he was positive that Ulfast had heard of it too at some point. Without further hesitation, he hurried to that direction, where, true enough, he saw Ulfast about to enter through the passage, wearing his black cloak once more to cover him in the darkness of the night. 

    Beregond sprang at once and pushed the scoundrel to the ground. Before Ulfast could get back to his feet, Beregond had unsheathed his sword and rested it against the fugitive's neck.

    "Leaving again?" he asked, sarcasm in his every word.

    Ulfast looked up at the captain, his fist clenching the ground in anger.

    "What are you going to do, kill me? You can go ahead!" he said angrily.

    "Oh, I know you would prefer to die than face the wrath of the one you deceived," was the captain's reply. "But I am not the one to decide your fate. The Prince of Ithilien will judge you for your crimes and the decision will lie within him."

     "You fool!" spat Ulfast in contempt, "I do not answer to the laws of Middle-earth, nor will I ever!"

    "You will, since I stand between you and your only means of escape." 

    Ulfast regarded Beregond through venomous eyes.    

    "I see. Well then..."

    At that instant, the malicious man threw the dirt that his hand had grasped earlier at Beregond's eyes. 

    Surprised and blinded, Beregond didn't have time, or the chance, to defend himself against Ulfast, who, seizing the opportunity, grabbed his knife from his belt and attacked. Holding Beregond's throat with one hand, Ulfast used his other to plunge the knife deep into the captain's chest. Beregond cried out in pain and then, feeling his strength and senses ebbing away, he fell in a heap on the ground.

    Ulfast looked at Beregond's still form with immense satisfaction. Even though he hadn't succeeded in ruling Ithilien, at least he had gotten his vengeance on the man that had foiled his plans. 

    It wasn't meant for his triumph to last long, however. Just as he was turning to the passage again, he heard behind him the twang of a bow and felt the sharp, stinging pain of something piercing him through. The last thing he saw before the cold fingers of death gripped his soul was the just wrath in Bergil's eyes.

\-------------

    At about the time that Beregond was heading for the passageway to find Ulfast, Faramir was sending every soldier that he encountered on his way to search for the traitor also. It wasn't long before he had found himself in front of Éowyn's room. Knowing very well that she was in, he knocked in a polite manner at the door.

    "Éowyn?" 

    If the lady had heard him, she didn't make any such sign; but Faramir didn't intend on giving up on her so easily. He felt truly sorry for what had passed between them and he wanted to get this off of his chest.

    "I know Ulfast was lying," he said, hoping he would be heard through the closed door. "Beregond explained everything, including what brought him in your room. He showed me Ulfast's notes."

    Still no sound could be heard from inside. Sighing deeply, Faramir rested his head on the door in defeat.

    "You have every right to be angry with me, and I will understand if you do not wish to forgive me after what I did. For all that it is worth, I wanted to say that I am sorry for doubting you in such a cruel way; I am sorry for my lack of faith in you; and I am sorry for hurting you... both." 

    He waited for a few moments, hoping that he would get an answer this time, no matter what it would be; then lowered his eyes saddened, seeing that it was of no use. He was about to walk away, his heart filled with bitterness, when the door opened and Éowyn came out.

    "You are fortunate I love you so much," remarked the fair woman, throwing herself into his arms and tears falling down her pale cheeks. 

    Exhaling a breath that he hadn't realised he held till now, Faramir returned the strong embrace, his own joy written on his face, and their lips sealing again the unity which they both feared they had lost. They remained for many moments in each other's arms, not wishing to let go of the other.

    "I am glad that it is over," declared Éowyn with a sigh, her heart still beating happily against her husband's. "What of Ulfast, then?"

    "I do not know where he is," answered Faramir, his eyes darkening at the mention of that name, "but Beregond and the rest of the men are looking for him even as we speak. It will not be long before they find him and place him into custody."

    "How come you did not go with them?"

    "I wanted to talk to you first, otherwise I would never be able to lift the burden that had settled in my soul," admitted the prince. "Anyway, I am certain Beregond will take care of everything." 

    Éowyn smiled slightly at this. 

    "It is good to see that you have come to trust him once more."

    Faramir answered with a smile of his own. It was then that a voice calling out for him made him turn.

    "Over here, Damrod!" he cried back. 

    Soon enough the second captain, accompanied by a soldier, appeared before the couple. The look on both their faces was so strangely sad that it puzzled Faramir.

    "What is it?" he asked apprehensively.

    "It is Ulfast, sir," replied Damrod slowly.

    "He has escaped?" exclaimed the prince.

    "No, my lord, far from that. But Captain Beregond is... your presence is needed, sir," the captain finally blurted out.

    Faramir actually felt the blood draining from his cheeks at such words. His eyes darted back and forth between Damrod and Éowyn, clearly showing his indecision: he was frightened about what might have come to pass, but he didn't wish to leave Éowyn either. 

    In the end, it was the woman that whispered to him what to do.

    "Run to find him. I will follow."

    Faramir didn't have to be told twice. Kissing his wife lightly on her cheek, he turned to Damrod and asked him to lead the way, leaving the soldier and Éowyn behind. 

    The two men hurried outside and, in a matter of minutes, they had come to the Dwarven passageway, where Faramir saw a group of soldiers standing in a circle, looking down at something. But nothing had prepared the prince for the sight that he was about to witness. In the middle of that circle he discerned Bergil on his knees, his arms cradling the limp, bloody form of his father and his tears wetting Beregond's face as they were shed without stop.

    Without losing any time, Faramir rushed at the lad's side and looked at his friend's face. He was shocked to see it deathly white.

    "What happened?" he asked, but his eyes quickly saw the knife still protruding from Beregond's chest.

    "Ulfast stabbed him... please, help him, sir," was all that Bergil managed to say amid his sobs.

    "I will do everything within my power," Faramir assured him. He quickly turned to Damrod. "Where is the healer? Is he on his way?"

    "I fear not, sire," replied the captain in regret; "He had another call this afternoon in town and he hasn't returned yet."

    "Do you know where he went?"

    "Yes."

    "Then go fetch him, quickly!"

    "Aye, sir!" replied Damrod and ran to the gates. 

    Faramir's eyes then locked on another guard nearby and he signalled to him discreetly, motioning his head toward Bergil. The soldier nodded his understanding and took Bergil away, even though the boy resisted at first. At that moment, Éowyn arrived as well, and the first thing she saw was the body of Ulfast, lying where it had fallen, forgotten.

    "Take him away, we will bury him outside the gates tomorrow," she ordered the soldiers nearby, "and no name shall be placed over him, nor shall the fiend be named again from this day forth. With his burial alone he has already earned much more than he deserved."

    The guards bowed in acknowledgment and lifted Ulfast's body in silence. Just before they had disappeared in the darkness of the night, they all cast a worried glance at their captain, all sharing the same thought: that their lord would help Beregond pull through.

    Meanwhile, Faramir was working on Beregond desperately. He had removed the knife, something that resulted in more blood gushing out from the wound. Being prepared for it, the prince pressed on the injury with a piece of cloth he had ripped from his own tunic, trying to hinder as much blood loss as possible. After binding the cloth in place with his belt and covering the guard with his overcoat, Faramir tried to wake his friend up, sometimes patting Beregond's ashen cheek, sometimes rubbing his frozen hand; and all the while speaking to him, slipping continuously from the Common Tongue to the Elven and back in his upset state.

    Éowyn knelt by her husband's side, looking with increasing worry at the effort the man made without managing any response from Beregond.

    "Is he...?" she started.

    "No, he cannot be," answered Faramir hastily, his eyes never leaving Beregond. "You hear that, _mellon nín_? You are not dead, so fight! _Rennich i beth lín_?*** Do not dare back away from it now. _Gerich faer bell. Maetho, aníron_!"****

    However, nothing happened; so Faramir placed a trembling hand over Beregond's heart, hoping that he would sense at least a heartbeat. Some moments passed, and the prince still hadn't picked up any pulse. 

    " _Baw, Beregond_ ,"***** Faramir said in a hushed quivering voice, tears of exasperation that had welled up finally streaming down his face. "Do not do this to me. Give me a sign that you are still alive. Do not let Death claim you as his own, not yet. _Lastach beth nín_?****** I do not want you to die now!"

    Time passed, and Faramir still held his hand over his friend's heart, his own hammering against his chest. He had become almost delirious as he begged Beregond to stay alive.

    But, no matter how hard he tried, he never felt any heartbeat.

    As soon as this realisation sank in, the prince's body started trembling, while his hands grasped the shoulders of the lifeless form and started shaking it violently.

    "You had promised!" he cried out, "' _I will die when you say I can_!' These were your exact words!"

    "Faramir..." said Éowyn, but he wouldn't listen to her. He still talked to Beregond, beside himself now. 

    "Why do you back away from your promise now? Why, curse you? WHY?" he asked again and again, his voice finally reaching to a scream.

    "Husband, enough!" cried the woman, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. "It is over."

    Faramir regarded her, his eyes reflecting his confusion and shock.

    "But, Éowyn," he said finally after long silence, "he cannot die... He simply cannot! He has still so much to offer in this world! I, of all people, know this best! Was he not always there for me, listening to me, comforting me, making me laugh, protecting me? And when he stood up against my father he gave me more than life, he gave me you! For had I died at my father's pyre I would never have set eyes upon you and loved you!" His voice became mellower, his mind drifting to better memories. "You know what he called me a little while before we parted? _Gwador_ \- sworn brother. And, truly, he had been my brother in everything. Everything except blood."

    His eyes turned to look upon his friend. It was strange, but at that moment it seemed to the prince that the lines on Beregond's pale face smoothed away, and that he was looking now at the face of his childhood companion as he remembered him in a similar situation: the time when they were children and Beregond had caught pneumonia because they had swum across the Anduin to escape the Orcs that had attacked them. When Beregond had lost consciousness, Faramir had thought that his friend had really died, and it took a great amount of effort from the bridge-keepers that had found them to convince him that his companion was actually alive. 

    Now, however, he had to believe in a different kind of truth: that he himself had looked for Beregond's heart, only to find out that its beating had ceased. 

    His shoulders shuddering with spasms of grief, Faramir nestled Beregond's form in his arms and, lowering himself down, kissed the captain's brow as two words flowed out in a soft whisper. 

    "I am sorry..."

    Then, resting his forehead against his dear comrade's, he let his mournful sobs reach up to the star-embroidered sky above.

TBC...

**Footnotes:**

_*Goheno nín_ : Forgive me (sindarin)

_**Ú_ _-moe edaved, gwador nín: There's nothing to forgive, sworn brother. (Sindarin)_

_*** Rennich i beth lín_?: Do you remember your word? (Sindarin)

**** _Gerich faer bell. Maetho, aníron_!: You have a strong spirit. Fight, please. (Sindarin)

***** _Baw, Beregond: Don't, Beregond (sindarin)._

_****** Lastach beth nín_?: Do you hear me? (Sindarin)


	10. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events of the War of the Ring, Beregond seems to have finally settled to an uneventful life in Ithilien and Faramir to a happy married life with the White Lady of Rohan. Yet as all three are about to discover, this peace is only the calm before the storm. Sequel to [Brothers in Arms](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=4592). Drama/ Angst/ Action. Edited.

    Several minutes passed, and, through her own tear-filled eyes, Éowyn watched her husband still clinging onto his friend. Not knowing what else to do, and aware that Beregond's body had to be taken care of sooner or later, she caressed her husband's back in a soothing manner and leaned against him.

    "I will call the guards. They will carry his body inside," she whispered.

    Faramir's hands only tightened their grip on Beregond's body at this.

    "No! No one will carry him but me!" he exclaimed passionately. "Call the guards, if you must, but only so that they can say their last farewell to their captain!"

    "You cannot manage it on your own," said Éowyn, trying to reason with him; but Faramir shook his head, not wishing to listen.

    "I must," he murmured, his eyes locking onto Beregond's face once more. "Even if it means breaking my back and stay crippled for the rest of my life."

    Before the fair woman could say anything else, the prince had already pushed a hand underneath Beregond's back, bringing the lifeless body in a sitting position and letting it rest against his own body frame, the captain's face meeting Faramir's cheek. 

    It was in that moment that the couple froze in utter amazement and disbelief. Éowyn's eyes quickly met her husband's. 

    "Éowyn...?" started Faramir.

    "I heard it too," the woman assured him. 

    Without exchanging any other words, Faramir whispered to Beregond, calling him; and he saw the guard's head stirring slightly, another moan escaping his lips. His hand quickly grasped his friend's and looked at his face pleadingly.

    " _Mellon nín_? Can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand?"

    Even though he had to wait for several moments, the prince was finally rewarded with a delicate squeeze of his fingers; and it wasn't long before, to Faramir's joy, his friend's eyelids fluttered open to reveal glazed hazel-green orbs underneath them. 

    "M-m-my chest hurts," slurred the captain slowly. 

    The prince quickly stopped him before he could say anything further.

    "I know, try not to move if you can help it," he whispered calmly. "Éowyn, can you find Bergil? He needs to know his father is alive." 

    "I will go," said she, smiling. She placed her hand momentarily on Beregond's, glad to see him alive, and then she walked away.

    As soon as they were left alone, Faramir faced his friend once more.

    "I thought I had lost you," he said softly, unable to control his wonder, "I did not feel your heartbeat and I was certain that you had died! How came this to be?"

    A weak, sad smile tugged on Beregond's lips despite the throbbing pain he felt, and his hand reached for his shirt. Faramir was agape to see underneath the fabric the shining metal of a chain mail. He looked carefully at the chest wound; and he saw that, even though the injury was still deep and there had been a lot of blood loss, the blade had cut too clumsily to make any real damage because of the hard surface it encountered; and the thickness of the corselet certainly explained how come Faramir never managed to pick up Beregond's pulse.

    "I put it on when you knocked at my door, even though a part of me still insisted I could trust you," said Beregond in answer to Faramir's look, his voice coming out as a soft murmur. "That is what I meant to tell you before... I am sorry..."

    "Do not be," said the prince kindly, his hand gently stroking some loose strands away from Beregond's face. "It seems that both our minds were poisoned by doubt; and yet in this case I would not have it otherwise. It saved your life."

    "Barely," remarked the captain. "I do not want to think what would have happened... if youhad actually used your sword against me..."

    "Then don't," Faramir interrupted him softly, such a thought making him shiver.

    "Aye, sir," replied Beregond, more then happy to obey. Even though he wished to stay awake and talk to Faramir, his body seemed to think otherwise, because his head felt like it was running in circles. His grip on his friend's arm tightened, trying to will himself to stay up; but it was of no use.

    "Beregond?" said the prince, realising that his comrade was in the verge of losing his conscience again, "Stay with me, _[gwador nín](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/Details/my%20sworn%20brother)_."

    The captain actually chuckled at this.    

    "I do not think I can comply this time," he breathed out, his eyes shutting. "Do not fret, I will not die..." he assured his friend, struggling to stay conscious to the last, "I remember my promise." 

    With that finally said, his body relaxed against Faramir's; and the noble man held him close, offering him his body warmth; his lips mouthed a word of gratitude to the Valar for answering his prayers.

\------------    

Indeed, Beregond didn't die. It wasn't long after he had fainted that Damrod arrived with the healer and he was carried to his room where he would be tended. The next several days proved more difficult than expected, since Beregond had already lost too much blood before Faramir offered the first aid, and the healer feared more than once that the captain wouldn't manage to pull through. 

    But the medical man had underestimated the strength in the loyal guard's spirit; and so, slowly but surely, the First Captain started to heal, much to the joy of all. And, after suffering three weeks of remaining bed-ridden by the healer's instructions (something that Bergil had made sure of), Beregond was on his feet once more and back to his duties, his return to the barracks hailed with cheers from all the soldiers present. It was also him that handed the armour of honorary soldier to his son; for the courage that Bergil had displayed and the service he had done to Ithilien was something unprecedented among the young trainees and that reward was only the least that could be offered. 

    Meanwhile, not only was Faramir and Beregond's friendship fully healed, but also it seemed to have grown even stronger now after overcoming the threat of Ulfast's scheming. And one day, as the captain was returning from his usual patrol with his company, the prince rushed to greet him at the gates with happy news: Éowyn had just given birth to a boy. His heart gladdened at such news, the guard hurried with his sworn brother up to Éowyn's quarters to see the baby and share the joy of the couple.

    Éowyn was lying in bed when the men walked into the room. Beregond could see that the fair lady was tired, nevertheless it seemed that her face shone with an inner glow. The woman welcomed them with a sweet smile, revealing in her arms the face of the baby, sleeping safely tucked in white clothing.

    "He is wonderful," noted the guard, smiling broadly.

    "And yet, so serious," completed Faramir, sitting on the bedside next to his wife, his fingers touching lightly a chubby little hand.

    "Well, he has a lot in his mind," replied Éowyn, her eyes twinkling lightly.

    "Like what, my lady?" asked Beregond in wonder.

    "Like what his name will be."

    "That is one of the reasons for bringing you here, my friend," said the prince.

    The captain looked at the couple puzzled, waiting for either of them to continue.

    "You see," said Éowyn, "you do not know this because you were unconscious, but, Faramir told me something that touched me greatly. That when you saved him from certain death, you made it possible for the two of us to love each other. And so, I wished to do something in return - like asking you to name the child." 

    Beregond's heart was deeply touched by such a suggestion, and he showed that by bowing slightly.

    "I would be honoured, my lady," he said. "Thank you both kindly."

    "It is the least we can do for such an old friend," said Faramir, smiling.

    The guard smiled; but he raised an eyebrow when he registered the tone in the prince's voice when he said 'old'.

    "Old?" he said in disbelief. "I am only three years older than you!"

    "Like you said, _older_ ," replied Faramir, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

    "Then this old fool should teach the infant before him some manners," answered Beregond in mock annoyance.

    "It is my policy not to beat elderly persons, I might hurt them."

    "Then you do not mind if _I_ beat you?"     

    "Not at all. The question is, do you have the strength for it?"

    Éowyn sighed dramatically as the two men continued with their friendly banter. 

    "You two are impossible," she finally said. "Do you realise the baby is sleeping?"

    Both prince and captain grew silent at once, even though their teasing expressions never left their faces. Then all three regarded with a smile the new life as he yawned and then fell back to his peaceful slumber. Beregond looked at the happy couple, and then back to the child.

    _Elboron_ , he thought, the name striking him as though out of nowhere. _It is a good name_. 

    And with that settled in his mind, he smiled and renewed silently his promise: to watch over the family to the end of his days.

**The End.**


End file.
